


Something Different

by RosYourBoat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, Magical Inheritance, Occlumency, Powerful Harry, War, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:21:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4647030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosYourBoat/pseuds/RosYourBoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of fifth year, Harry starts on a path that will lead to him becoming the powerful wizard the magical world needs to defeat the Dark Lord. His determination, maturity, and burgeoning magical abilities force those around him to see him in a light they never have before. Harry is preparing for war.</p><p>This fic is unfinished, and will remain so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my recent excavation and expunction of all of my old fics from my hard drive to an online form, where they can be held as an indelible and inescapable memento of my past obsessions. These fics are all unbeta'd and heretofore unseen by anyone but me. I hope someone else feels some of the enjoyment I received from writing them.
> 
> "Something Different" was written in October of 2007, and it's definitely an "all but the kitchen sink" kind of a fic. It features powerful!smart!Harry, neutral!Draco, and nice!Snape. It explores the abuse Harry suffered under the hands of the Dursleys (warning: the abuse is much worse than described in the books), as well as the love and acceptance of the family he builds for himself. The fic implies an attraction between Harry and Draco, but the fic ends before it could really be explored.

   _It never fails,_ Harry Potter thought to himself as he dodged a fiery red bolt of light and sent a sizzling yellow bolt of his own back at his opponent. _Every year, without fail, someone tries to kill me. You'd think that Voldemort would send someone a bit less conspicuous this time, though. I've been suspicious of this "professor" since the Welcoming Feast._ Harry tensed, watching the snarling man in front of him closely before seeing his chance. With a triumphant grin, he ducked another red spell and leapt forward, barreling straight into the surprised wizard. With a sharp crack of a skull against stone, the man's body went limp. _Ha! Didn't expect that, did you, scumbag?_  
  
    Harry cautiously got to his feet, Moody's admonition of "Constant Vigilance" ringing clearly in the back of his mind, and quickly sent stunning, binding, silencing, and locking spells at the unconscious man. Wearily, Harry slid down the wall across from the would-be assassin and rubbed his brow.  
  
    " _Expecto Patronum!_ " Harry whispered, watching as the silvery fog instantly formed into the familiar form of Prongs. "I need one of the Professors for clean-up duty." Harry told the apparition, and it inclined its head respectfully before bounding away down the corridor they were in and through the wall. Harry sighed and leaned back, his wand held firmly in his grasp as he kept his eyes on the man across from him. His name was, supposedly, Ian Trafford. He was a short, stocky blond man with dark, calculating blue eyes and a scar that ran down his cheek and marred his mouth into a permanent sneer. Needless to say, after five years of worthless - and mostly dangerous - Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers (with the exception of one), Harry had been on guard for the entire year waiting for the cold wizard to make a move.  
  
    He had only had to wait until the night of the Halloween Feast.  
  
    _This is getting a bit old,_ Harry thought to himself with a flash of irritation. _Either Dumbledore needs to watch who he hires more closely or he needs to get rid of the class altogether. It certainly doesn't seem as if Voldemort is sharp enough to actually change_ _ **his**_ _strategy. Even the attack on Halloween is the same as every year._ Despite his thoughts, Harry was actually somewhat grateful for the familiarity of the situation. Just like homework, Ron and Hermione's friendship, and the Dursley's hatred, it was another thing that helped keep him grounded in the constantly shifting waters of his life. It was something he could depend on.  
  
    After last year... after his godfather died... he had nearly been lost. Returning to the cold, harsh, painful environment of the Dursley household had nearly broken him. Despite his emotions to the contrary, he had needed his friends and surrogate family around him during that difficult time. But it wasn't to be. With only his thoughts, his memories, and his uncle's abuse to fill the time, he had nearly given up. Harry broke from his thoughts as he heard the quick footsteps of approaching adults and firmly pushed the memories away. He had survived, and as far as he was concerned, he was stronger for it. Things had turned out alright in the end.  
  
    "Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall gasped when she saw him sitting across from the crumpled form of the most recent Defense teacher. "What is the meaning of this?" Harry stood up, leaning against the wall and wincing inwardly at the pain of a partial cutting hex to his leg. The silvery form of Prongs approached him and bowed its head again before dispersing into a formless cloud that quickly evaporated. Harry watched as Dumbledore knelt to inspect the unconscious wizard, Snape moving swiftly around McGonagall and in front of Harry with an unreadable expression. This, too, was a familiar sight. Whenever something happened at school lately that involved Harry, these three were the ones that were always the first to respond. The Headmaster was the wise leader, McGonagall was the concerned and stern Head of House, and Snape served as the unwilling but proficient emergency medic (just in case). Although Harry had greatly protested Snape's presence at first, not wanting the cruel man to see his weakness, over time he had come to greatly appreciate his quick, business-like healing abilities. After all, Snape was much more likely to let Harry walk away after being healed, even if he might still be in pain, while Madame Pomfrey would have confined him to the Hospital Wing for a week in the same situation.  
  
    "I had lost track of time in the library and I was coming late to the Feast when he attacked." Harry said simply, taking the vials that Snape handed him and giving them a cursory sniff before downing them. He had taken so many potions throughout the years that he could recognize most of the basics just by scent, taste, and sight. These were a Pain Reliever and a mild Numbing potion. Snape had sneered and insulted him for this particular cautionary habit in the beginning, but over time, he too had mellowed in his obvious dislike.  
  
    "Where does it hurt, Potter?" Snape said with a scowl, faint disdain laced through his tone. The change in Snape's attitude had taken some getting used to, but it too was somewhat familiar. After the disaster that was Occlumency lessons last year, they had both been completely prepared to tear each other apart if they met again, but the events over the summer and Snape's new role as Harry's emergency medic had allowed their mutual hatred to take a backseat to preparing for war. Snape had certainly been harsh and cruel at first when Harry had come to Grimmauld Place halfway through the summer, but Harry's changed demeanor - as well as the fact that Harry had saved his life once or twice - had forced a kind of mutual understanding between them. _You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours._  
  
    "He nicked me with a cutting hex on the leg and a Headache Reliever would be appreciated. Nothing I can't handle, otherwise." Harry replied. Snape rummaged in his pocket and withdrew a vial with a pale pink liquid inside that he handed to Harry before he knelt down to inspect Harry's shin. With more care than one would normally associate with the Potion's Master, Snape removed a small knife from his cloak that was normally used for cutting ingredients and slit Harry's pants up to the knee. Thanks to the potions he had ingested, Harry felt no pain when Snape peeled away the blood-soaked fabric to reveal a fairly deep gash, but he heard McGonagall suck in a startled breath.  
  
    "That is hardly a _nick_ , Mr. Potter!"  
  
    "Please, Minerva, it is easy to see that Potter's tendency to underestimate is only surpassed by his favor to the dramatic. Why else would he send his ridiculous Patronus charging into the middle of a feast?" Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance.  
  
    "I'm sorry if I interrupted your highly enjoyable evening, Professor," Harry said sarcastically. "I'll be sure to let Voldemort's lackeys kill me next time so as to not inconvenience you." Snape let out a hiss of warning, tightening his grip on Harry's leg so that a glimmer of pain wormed through the haze of potions.  
  
    "How many times do I have to tell you _not to say his name in front of me?_ " He hissed. "It is a wonder that your guardians haven't killed you for your insufferable impertinence!" Harry flinched visibly, his face paling.  
  
    "Severus!" McGonagall scolded. "That's enough!" The wizard merely sneered, his coal black eyes taking in Harry's reaction. Harry forced himself to keep his breath calm, stifling the hatred and fear that surged through him in response to the comment. No one knew about the abuse he had suffered at his relatives hands. He didn't want them to. It was a secret he had kept tightly for years and years, and he had protected that secret with a vengeance borne of desperation; afraid to lose his friends, afraid that they would pity him, afraid that they would laugh at his weakness. Even though the pain had been nearly blinding when his Advance Guard had showed up unexpectedly two days after his birthday, he had struggled fiercely to appear as though nothing was wrong. As though three of his ribs weren't broken. As though his back wasn't burning with bleeding welts. As though the visions of death and torture that Voldemort sent him weren't tearing him up inside.  
  
    And, apparently, he had succeeded. Time had passed and since he could use magic in Grimmauld Place without being detected, he had managed to completely heal himself with spells and potions that he brewed in the middle of the night (he had often been amused by what Snape would have said if he knew Harry had done that). Emotionally, it had taken much longer, but his friends seemed to think that he was still grieving over Sirius rather than recovering from the harsh treatment he had received at the Dursley's, and so they were willing to give him some room while supporting him. They were right, partially. He _was_ still grieving over Sirius, and it was very hard being there in Grimmauld Place without him, but Harry was mostly soaking in their love, letting it soothe him like a cool balm on a raw wound. However, the physical and mental scars would never disappear.  
  
    He didn't blame them for not noticing or suspecting that he was hurt. After all, he had tried _very_ hard to cover up any indication of abuse, and he wasn't above using their guilt and hesitance to push them away when it got too hard. He hated to lie to them that way, but he was sure that it was the only way for him to heal enough so that he could deal with the parts of his life that were more important; mainly, the prophecy and training. It never even occurred to him that opening up and telling his family and friends about what he had been through and what he felt about it would make the pressure inside of him ease and let him heal even faster.  
  
    "Potter? _Potter!_ " Harry blinked, snapping back to reality at Snape's impatient snarl. Scowling inwardly at the path that his thoughts had taken him once again, Harry let a small frown surface on his face. Snape had finished healing his leg and had already wrapped the sensitive skin in a thick bandage, while McGonagall and Dumbledore were still examining the former Professor Trafford. Dumbledore had his wand pointed at the man's left forearm and was muttering a long string of Latin that Harry couldn't catch. Slowly, he saw a faint shadow of what he knew to be the Dark Mark appear on Trafford's skin. He looked away, not needing to see the rest. Trafford would be bound, taken to the Ministry, and everything would go back to normal until Voldemort tried to kill Harry again. It was a depressing cycle that would no doubt drive anyone else mad, but it had become normal and familiar to Harry by now.  
  
    "Yes?" Harry asked. Snape narrowed his eyes at him.  
  
    "You are to return to your dormitory unless you wish to pay Madame Pomfrey a visit. Be sure to practice shielding your mind tonight; no doubt the Dark Lord will be furious that his plan failed once more." Harry nodded. Part of his training during the summer and into the school year involved Occlumency once more. Luckily, it was with Dumbledore this time around, and Harry had actually managed to get a good grasp on it. Even Snape sometimes sprung mental attacks on him and was pushed out before he could see anything. It made Harry both angry and somewhat smug. Now, Dumbledore was instructing Harry on not only expelling an intruder, but also leading them to false memories and thoughts if need be in an effort to plant false information or lead them into a trap. Alongside these lessons were similar introductory lessons to Leglimency, which Dumbledore insisted that he had at least a basic knowledge in because he would be able to protect better against an attack that he understood. It was much more difficult, but he knew that it was definitely worth it. Not to mention necessary.  
  
    And so, after a few more minutes, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower. His appetite was completely gone and he was no longer eager for the light company and good food that was to be had at the Halloween Feast. Everyone was probably panicking at the sight of his Patronus anyway, and there was no doubt that the news of a Professor trying to kill Harry - again - would be spreading through the school like wildfire within hours. But Harry didn't want to think about that right now.  
  
    He retreated up to his dorm room and drew the curtains around his bed even though there wasn't anyone else in the room. His own experiences and Mad Eye Moody's training over the summer had drilled into him a near paranoia about secrecy. From the small pocket he had made in the curtains surrounding his bed, Harry withdrew a small book and tapped it lightly with his wand, whispering a password in Parseltongue. He opened it as he did so and watched the letters unscramble themselves into pages and pages of his own handwriting.  
  
    Harry had kept a journal since the end of his first year. He had felt a need to write down everything that had happened regarding his first year as a wizard, and so he had rummaged through the pile of Dudley's old things until he came across a small notebook journal with deep gouges across the cover. He wrote in it only rarely; usually when something big happened or he felt a sudden urge to write a particular memory or thought. That notebook and another like it had lasted him up until this past summer, at which time Remus Lupin had sent him a brand new one for his birthday that had been charmed with never-ending pages, a scrambling charm, and fire- and water-resistant spells. "There is more than one way to relieve stress," the accompanying note had said, somewhat cryptically. Harry had been ecstatic at the gift and had immediately looked for a spell that would combine his previous journals and transfer them to his new one.  
  
    Now, Harry opened it and rifled slowly through the pages until he came to the last page, at which point he found a quill and ink and began writing. He finished long before his friends returned from the feast, which was really only an hour or so, and he hid the book away before stretching out on his bed and staring up at the darkened curtains. He felt strangely empty, as if he should be feeling something other than indifference. He should be feeling frightened, or exhilarated, or triumphant, or at least angry that people kept trying to kill him. But he wasn't. He had gotten used to it. People would always hate him, and they always had, ever since he was dumped on the Dursley's doorstep. He had rather gotten used to knowing that there would always be someone out there that would prefer to see him dead, and that there might always be someone who would try to make that happen.  
  
    It was sort of frightening, in a way. No sixteen-year-old should have to deal with that. And no one should think that it was normal. But for Harry, it was.  
  


* * *

  
    The school was buzzing with the news for days. Ron and Hermione could tell that the gossip (as well as the stress from watching his back against Trafford) was starting to get to Harry, but luckily his training allowed him to control his emotions and release them in a healthy manner - mainly, beating up dummies in the Room of Requirement.  
  
    _Wham!_  
  
    Another cloaked dummy crashed to the ground, its hood thrown back to reveal a mannequin head with its neck twisted at an odd angle. Harry ignored it, leaping over the "body" to dodge the fist of the dummy behind him and whirling around to point his wand at its midsection.  
  
    " _Reducto!_ " The point-blank blasting curse completely blew away the dummy, disintegrating its midsection and tearing its extremities into pieces. Sensing a final dummy behind him, Harry simply forwent his wand and spun on the balls of his feet, delivering a perfect roundhouse kick to the side of the dummy's head. The plastic head crumpled and shattered with the force of his blow and Harry stood still, allowing any lingering traces of frustration and anger drain away. He felt calm, collected, and satisfied. It had been a while since he had had a session that was so charged with emotion. It would be quite a while before he needed to relieve some more steam.  
  
    A smattering of belated applause broke his thoughts and immediately the solemn, dangerous figure that had been "battle-Harry" (as Ron liked to call him) vanished to be replaced by normal Harry. An embarrassed but pleased flush appeared on his cheeks and he smiled slightly, his piercing green eyes sparkling a little as he turned his attention to his friends seated on a couch in the corner. Hermione dropped the shield that had been placed around them for safety, looking faintly flushed with adrenaline.  
  
    "Harry, you nearly gave me a coronary!" She scolded, worry and excitement struggling for dominance on her face. In the end, excitement won over. "Though you were much faster this time! It almost looked like you were holding back on us." Harry avoided her gaze, evading her subtle probe for information. Luckily, Ron had never really had that good of a grasp on subtlety.  
  
    "Bloody hell! That was bloody amazing!" He exclaimed, ignoring Hermione's chastising "Ron!" as he looked around at the scattered remains of twelve Death Eaters dummies, each one showing more and more damage. "If I'd known Moody would be teaching things like _that_ , I'd have tried harder to get into your training sessions!"  
  
    "Don't worry, it's not much different than what you guys learned," Harry said quickly. "Just a bit more... in depth." _That's an understatement_ , Harry thought to himself, allowing the Room of Requirement to vanish the dummies and transform the room into a comfortable sitting room. Harry and his friends had started training as soon as Harry had arrived at Grimmauld Place. However, while Ron and Hermione had been taught in basic holds and fighting techniques, Harry had been taken to a separate room to be taught personally by Alastor Moody himself on Dumbledore's orders. He winced at the memory. Sometimes he was sure that he still had the bruises from that first day. Moody's training had been much more intensive and thorough; seemingly more like torture than actual learning.  
  
    But Harry had learned. He had been glad for the instruction and he soaked up everything Moody taught him like a sponge. After all, there was a reason that Moody was famous for being one of the best Aurors in all of Britain, and Harry knew just how important it was to learn those skills. The dreams and visions that plagued him reminded him of that importance every night.  
  
    "Besides, your mum barely let you train with Shacklebolt and Tonks. I doubt she would've let Moody loose on you," Harry added, remembering Mrs. Weasley's towering temper when Dumbledore had suggested training them. Harry fancied the thought that even Dumbledore had wilted slightly under her fury, but in the end, they had gotten their way.  
  
    Ron rolled his eyes, but winced. "Right, I'm not sure I'd want to be beaten to a pulp by that maniac anyway. I still don't get why you put up with it the entire summer - you're a glutton for punishment, Harry!"  
  
    "I'm not!" Harry said indignantly. Ron opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione interrupted him with a thoughtful look on her face.  
  
    "Of course you're not Harry," she said vaguely, "but I was wondering earlier... when did you get so strong, Harry? I mean, I know we all trained our bodies and magic this summer, but neither of us improved as much as you did. You're spells are _much_ stronger than they used to be - you weren't even this strong at the beginning of term!" She hesitated slightly, looking as if she were choosing her words carefully. Harry's stomach dropped and he had the distinct feeling that Hermione was reading way too much into this. "Harry, is there something you're not telling us? I mean, I know how you always complain about being so much smaller than everyone else in our year... Have you been, er - well, _taking_ something to, um, bulk up?"  
  
    Harry gaped at her, speechless. Even Ron was staring at her as if she had grown a second head, and an embarrassed flush slowly crept up her neck and infused her cheeks, but her expression remained determined. "Well?"  
  
    "Er, Hermione, I don't even know what you're talking about," Harry said cautiously. "What d'you mean, _bulk up?_ " A vaguely painful sound was starting to come from Ron, redness also creeping over his ears and filling his face as he struggled with whatever seemed to be choking him. A flash of embarrassed anger sparked through Hermione's brown eyes and she ground her teeth in frustration.  
  
    "I mean steroids, Harry! Magical steroids!" Ron was losing the battle with himself as squeaky snorts were escaping his clenched jaw and Harry continued to stare at her, a vaguely indignant expression growing on his face.  
  
    "What? 'Mione, I think you've been reading too many books lately. I would never do anything like that!"  
  
    "S- _steroids_?" Ron squeaked, the word seeming to break his restraint, and he was soon clutching his sides and howling with laughter. The bushy-haired girl scowled and crossed her arms, stamping her foot in annoyance. "You - you think that-" This was too much for Hermione and she promptly took out her wand and silenced him. He continued to laugh silently and Harry finally smiled slightly, shaking his head.  
  
    "Come on, 'Mione, you know me better than that. I accepted that I'd always be short and skinny years ago - I don't need steroids." Hermione nodded reluctantly, still watching him with a slightly worried expression.  
  
    "Okay. I guess I just thought... well, with Sirius' death, I thought that you might be training and getting stronger for... revenge or something." She stared at the floor as she mumbled this, waiting for his famous temper to ignite. They hadn't really mentioned Sirius to Harry very often, afraid that it would bring back bad memories. He had already changed so much from the little boy on his first day at Hogwarts and Hermione didn't want to see the slight echo of that boy fade away, consumed by hatred and revenge. Little did she know, Harry had decided that he had more important things to worry about than Bellatrix Lestrange; revenge for Sirius' death had taken a back seat to preparing to kill Voldemort.  
  
    Of course, if he managed to meet her in the course of fulfilling that goal... Well, there was nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone.  
  
    "You don't need to worry about that. I'm not going to do anything stupid. For right now, she's off slithering around somewhere in the mountains and I've got bigger fish to fry."  
  
    Surprised that he hadn't blown up at her, Hermione looked up into his determined green eyes for a long moment, assessing his sincerity, before she nodded with satisfaction, a beaming smile on her lips. "That's a mature way of thinking about it, Harry! I'm glad that you've got your priorities straight." Ron had stopped laughing and was trying to get their attention, mouthing words slowly and waving his arms. Harry held back his grin and watched as Hermione smirked - actually smirked! - at Ron and bid Harry a curt goodbye (reminding him of their Transfiguration essay due the next week) before she left the Room of Requirement.  
  
    "Sorry, mate, you know how impossible it is to get her hexes off," Harry said, shrugging, and followed her out. Ron gaped in shock for a few moments before he ran after them, mouthing profanities silently.  
  
    A week later, Dumbledore still hadn't found a replacement Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and so Harry and his friends were spending the time in the library completing their homework. Ron had complained about this at first, but all Hermione had to do was remind him of his OWL results and he would shut up. It wasn't that his grades were bad - he had actually gotten more than the twins put together - but they were still a bit below average. Harry had been astounded when he saw that his grades were slightly above average; he had even managed to get an E on the written portion of the test and an O on the practical in Potions - and that, apparently, had been enough for Harry to squeak by into Advanced Potions.  
  
    Snape had been an absolute berk since the class began, even worse than he had been, but Harry didn't mind as long as Snape toned it down when there weren't students around. Harry knew they all had roles to play in this war.  
  
    However, today even Harry was ready to tear his hair out in frustration. Snape had assigned them a three-foot essay on the Voracis potion, which was so rare and vaguely mentioned that whatever they _had_ managed to find would only fill one foot of parchment. Finally, Harry let out a breath and snapped his book shut, coughing and sneezing when the action caused a dust cloud.  
  
    "That's it, I'm giving up," he announced, rubbing his irritated eyes and running a hand through his raven black hair to remove the dust.  
  
    "What? Harry, we're so close! There's still another shelf of potions books that we haven't even gone through!" Hermione protested weakly, a smudge of dust across her forehead and nose. She was becoming as disheartened as he was, but she still had a fire of determination that he had lost four tomes ago. From across the table, Ron sniggered, glad that he had not been able to get into the greasy git's class.  
  
    "Hermione, there isn't one-" Harry began, exasperated, when a wave of foreign emotion stopped him in his tracks. His vivid green eyes widened and he just barely managed to grab a hold of the edge of their table to keep himself up as his knees buckled. His friends cried his name in alarm, jumping up to support him on both sides as he grew deathly pale and his eyes stared unseeingly in front of him. Excitement, anticipation, and impatience coursed through his body, making it tremble violently, and his mind recoiled from the foreign emotions in disgust and fear. They were disturbingly similar to the emotions Voldemort had sent him in the false visions of the Department of Mysteries.  
  
    Harry tried to fight the emotions away and reestablish his shields - how had they been broken so easily, anyway? - but it was extremely slow going. It felt like he was trying to close the door on a flood or trying to walk upstream in a raging river. Beneath the raw emotions, thoughts were forming. Not his. Voldemort's.

 _Time. The time is coming. Power. Invincible power. Immortality. It is soon at hand, Harry Potter._  
  
    Pain lanced through Harry's temple, racing through his brain like lightning, and he couldn't stop himself from crying out in pain. He grabbed his head and his knees buckled again, breaking free from his friends grasps and collapsing to the floor. Pain enveloped his senses as the emotions continued to rage through him, mocking him as Voldemort's thoughts burned through his mind.  
  
    _Your time is soon at hand, Harry. You have been living on borrowed time, and I plan on taking that time away from you soon. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME!_  
  
    "Yes - I - CAN!" Harry shouted back in his mind, unaware that he also shouted it out loud. "I will not be killed that easily, Voldemort; you of all people should know that by now! Now _get - out - of - my - MIND!_ " And with an almighty shove, he expelled Voldemort forcefully from his mind, a swirling echo of the monster's emotions curling around his mind like a dangerous lover. Shuddering heavily, Harry frantically worked to replace his shields as he became aware of two presences on either side of him helping him stand.  
  
    "Harry? Harry, are you alright, mate?" Ron's voice came from his right side and Harry blinked a few times as his mind slowly began working again. Worry and a hint of fear laced through his friend's tone, and he wished desperately that he could ease it.  
  
    "'m fine." He managed to grunt as they moved him to a chair and helped him sit. "Bloody Voldemort." Someone let out a humorless bark of laughter that echoed slightly around the library, which alerted Harry to the fact that the room was very, very quiet. He closed his eyes, feeling as if his brain had been pounded to a pulp. He couldn't deal with a curious, frightened crowd of students right now.  
  
    "Potter! Open your eyes!" A cold voice commanded from in front of him and Harry jumped in surprise. He hadn't even heard anyone approach, which meant that he must really be tired if even his most basic of defenses were disabled. Resigned, he opened his eyes and looked around, seeing McGonagall sternly ushering a crowd of students (a significantly larger crowd than had been in the library before, if Harry remembered correctly) out the doors and Dumbledore was standing behind Snape, watching Harry closely with something that could be concern.  
  
    "Where does it hurt, Potter?" Snape asked, using his wand to shine a bright light into Harry's eyes even as he asked the familiar question. "Physical responses are slow, reflexes nearly nonexistent, clammy skin, labored breathing, severely retarded mental activity - but I suppose that's normal. He'll have to go to the Hospital Wing for this, as I am not well-equipped for healing concerning the brain. What happened, Potter?" Harry blinked again, processing the information. Why was he feeling like everything was moving so slowly?  
  
    "Bloody Voldemort," he said again, before feeling embarrassed at his automatic response and forcing his mind to regain some semblance of order. "Er... Riddle's emotions overpowered me all of the sudden. I didn't even feel my shields fall before he attacked me."  
  
    "Did he tell you anything, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, his face grave and his eyes sad. Harry nodded.  
  
    "Yes, he basically said that soon he will receive unlimited power and immortality; he kept saying 'the time is soon at hand.' He was feeling really excited and impatient." He shrugged. "Then he threatened to kill me. It was a pretty standard encounter, but he's never attacked me like that before. Well, except for... that once." His eyes drifted back to meet Dumbledore's eyes, which flashed with sudden understanding and regret. To this day, even after everything he had been through in his short life, those few minutes of being possessed by Voldemort in the Ministry of Magic was the most painful experience he had ever felt.  
  
    "Only you, a Potter, would have the arrogance to say being threatened by the Dark Lord was 'standard'," Snape sneered disgustedly. Harry glared at him, but it didn't hold nearly as much venom in it as it usually did. Dumbledore stepped forward and placed a wrinkled hand on Harry's shoulder, which made him tense automatically. He never did well with people touching him, even casually.  
     
    "Very well, then, Harry, let's get you up to the Hospital Wing." With his friends help, Harry managed to walk to the Hospital Wing through the blissfully-empty halls and into Madame Pomfrey's over-protective grasp. Before he could hardly blink, a Dreamless Sleep potion was pushed into his hands and he was told to drink it. He did so reluctantly, not wanting to risk another vision from Voldemort, but as he fell into the comforting darkness he knew with strange assurance that he would not have a vision that night.

* * *

    Harry woke to complete darkness. He laid still, mentally assessing himself and finding that he felt perfectly fine - better than before, actually. He knew that he always healed quickly after a vision and thanks to Pomfrey's hasty administration of Dreamless Sleep, he was now perfectly awake and energized. Too bad it was the middle of the night. Wondering if he could attempt to escape the Hospital Wing, he expanded his senses to the rest of the room, freezing in place when he heard breathing coming from the chair beside his bed. He nearly shot off a spell from the wand that appeared suddenly in his hand, but then it registered that the breathing was slow and even. The person was sleeping.  
  
    Cautiously, Harry lit the tip of his wand wordlessly, relaxing against his pillows in relief when he saw the familiar worn face of Remus Lupin, slumped in an uncomfortable-looking position on the hard chair. Curiosity replaced his caution and he studied the werewolf's face intently, wondering what the man was doing there. After Sirius' death, they had drawn closer together in sorrow and in comfort even though both men were not the type to openly discuss their pain. From the beginning, Remus had made it clear that he could never dream to attempt to take either James' or Sirius' place, but Harry had quickly found that the kind man had traits that - while both different and similar to Sirius - had drawn Harry to him. Remus' calm logic, wry wit, and intimate knowledge of Defense ensured that the two never lacked for a topic that they could talk about for hours, and the maturity and caution that Harry had developed over the summer enabled them to talk as equals.  
  
    Deciding to ask Remus why he was here in the morning, Harry lowered his wand with a sigh and let the light fade. With a start, he realized that he had never said a word since he had woken up, including when he had summoned his wand and lit the tip. And how had he been able to summon his wand without _using_ a wand? He frowned into the darkness, confused and slightly frightened. After what had happened a week ago in the Room of Requirement, Harry had paid close attention to his magic, worried that something was wrong with it. To his astonishment, he noticed that his spells _were_ becoming stronger and his reflexes were faster, and the enhancements didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down.  
  
    He didn't know how he hadn't noticed it before. At the end of last year, his _Reducto_ would have merely blasted an enemy away from him but just last week it had torn a dummy to pieces. Last year he had been quick and agile, but this year he almost seemed to be able to sense when and where something would move beforehand and his body acted without his mind consciously directing it. And now he was doing wandless and soundless magic. _Is this the 'power the Dark Lord knows not'?_ If it was, he supposed that he could see the advantage to it, but at the same time he could see the danger if he wasn't able to control himself or his magic. He was in a school of 300 students, after all. He resolved to talk to the Headmaster about it, even if he didn't particularly trust the man after what happened after the Department of Mysteries incident.  
  
    Harry couldn't deny that he liked the old wizard. Dumbledore was like a grandfather to him and even though he had a tendency to withhold information from those he saw as too young to handle it, he had clearly been trying to rectify that flaw. He had taken the time to teach Harry personally, he allowed Harry to sit in on Order meetings that were relevant to him, he spoke to Harry as an equal rather than a child, and he was also upfront with what he could or couldn't tell him. This had soothed Harry's anger somewhat, but that didn't mean that he relied on Dumbledore's words alone anymore. He had taken it into his own hands to be well-informed and many sleepless nights had been filled with reading books about Voldemort's first rise and the war tactics of both sides of the war. Harry was determined to be prepared this time for what Voldemort might do, since Harry's previous strategy of barging in without knowledge beforehand had cost his godfather his life.  
  
    And so, it was with these dark thoughts that Harry sat in the darkness of the Hospital Wing, waiting for light to appear.  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

   Somewhere around eight o'clock the next morning, the door to the Hospital Wing opened and Harry sat up from his position on the windowsill where he had been staring out over the expansive grounds. He grinned when he saw Hermione and Ron walk in and look confusedly at his empty bed with Remus sitting next to it.  
  
    "Hey, guys," he called quietly and they jumped, startled. With relieved smiles they rushed to his side and greeted him, looks of concern washing over their faces briefly but disappearing when he smiled crookedly at them once more. After being friends with Harry Potter for five years, they had gotten rather used to the odd things that occurred around him and they had learned to roll with the punches as far as he was concerned. If he was able to smile after whatever had happened to him, then they could trust that he was okay. Ron, who was somewhat more used to Harry's "scar attacks" since they lived in the same dorm, could tell that whatever had happened was minor compared to what Harry looked like after some major visions. That didn't stop it from being frightening when it happened, but it provided a little comfort.  
  
    "Harry! Are you alright?" Hermione asked breathlessly, keeping her voice quiet so as to not wake the sleeping werewolf. "It was so frightening when you collapsed like that!"  
  
    "Yeah, nearly brought me to the floor with you, you fatty," Ron added, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. Harry pouted as Hermione giggled, everyone present knowing just how thin and light Harry was; in fact, Hermione could probably lift him. It was a source of some worry privately but Harry never minded joking about it, and no one really wanted to open that can of worms.  
  
    "Ha ha," Harry grumbled. "Thanks for your show of concern, Ron. I'm fine, 'Mione. Just a minor encounter with The Git. Since I've gotten a handle on Occlumency, he hasn't been able to really hurt me and he knows it. He also knows that he can't send me false visions anymore since I can tell which are real or not by now." _Oh yes, I most certainly can._  
  
    "What's Remus doing here, then?" Ron asked. Harry shrugged.  
  
    "I don't know. I woke up in the middle of the night and he was already sleeping there..."  
  
    "I'm here, Harry, because I've accepted a proposition from an old friend... again." The three teens turned at the groggy voice behind them. Remus was unfolding himself carefully from the hard chair, stretching his tall lanky frame and wincing as he rubbed at a crick in his neck. "Ugh, I've always suspected that there was a reason Poppy always made those chairs so darned uncomfortable."  
  
    "Hullo, Remus," Harry said, smiling lopsidedly, and his friends gave their own greetings to the kind werewolf. The worn man shuffled over to join Hermione and Ron in front of the Boy-Who-Lived, who was still seated on the large stone windowsill, one knee brought up to his chest while the other dangled off the side. "Had a good rest, have you?"  
  
    Remus grimaced. "Somewhat. I probably should have been drawing up lesson plans and preparing for classes tomorrow, but I had heard what happened to you when I arrived after dinner and I had to come visit you. Must've fallen asleep." A warm burst of happiness seemed to explode in Harry's chest as he deciphered what Remus was saying, spreading throughout his limbs and lighting his brilliant green eyes in flames, making them nearly glow in the dim light of dawn. _Remus is coming back to teach!_ Hermione seemed to come to the same conclusion, as she suddenly clapped her hands together lightly and grinned widely, letting out a delighted giggle.  
  
    "Congratulations, Remus! It's brilliant to see you back as a teacher like you're supposed to be. I know for a fact that everyone still thinks that you're the best Defense teacher ever; they'll be so glad to have you back. Especially after Umbridge..." Harry trailed off, a dark expression on his face. Concerned, Remus opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Hermione and Ron offering their own congratulations. The topic moved quickly away from Umbridge as Hermione began fishing for information on what the lesson topics for the year were going to be about.  
  
    Finally, after the house elves had brought up food and Madam Pomfrey had given Harry one last check over, they stood to return to classes once more. Harry's friends stood outside the curtain politely while Harry hurriedly changed from his hospital-issued pajamas into his school robes, unaware that his friends were discussing him quietly. "Five years, and he still changes alone in a bathroom stall," Ron snorted quietly.  
  
    "Well, I think it's good that Harry has a better sense of modesty than the rest of your _roommates_. It shows he has dignity," Hermione said primly while Ron looked disbelieving. Beneath his good-natured smile, Remus watched with a faintly worried expression. They fell silent when Harry padded out of the curtained enclosure, clutching his hospital pajamas in one hand while running his other through his raven black hair with a grimace. Frankly, he wasn't looking forward to returning to Gryffindor tower.  
  
    "We might as well get this over with," he grumbled, tossing the dirty laundry into the bin at the base of his bed. "What are people saying about me now? That I'm nutters? That I'm grubbing for attention?"  
  
    Ron scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "That's about the size of it. Just the same old rubbish the wankers have been spouting off every time you do something they don't like. You'd better just ignore them, mate." Hermione, having opened her mouth to say the same thing, snapped her head around to gape like a grounded fish at the oblivious redhead. Despite himself, Harry stifled a grin at her flustered recovery, sneaking a glance at Remus to share a secret smile.  
  
    "R-right, Harry, that's very good advice," she said, still giving Ron - who finally noticed her look and raised an eyebrow in confusion - a weird eye. "I've been telling you for years to ignore what those gossips are saying and _try_ not to let the Slytherins get under your skin. We don't need to make everyone angry as well as curious by losing points!"  
  
    "If they stay out of my way, I'll stay out of theirs," Harry mumbled, repeating the unspoken agreement he had reached with Snape. Although he would never dare to say it out loud, Harry had developed a healthy respect for the bitter Potions Master, recalling all of the times in his visions that Voldemort had praised the man for his cleverness. He had seen Snape's brilliance for himself countless times - watching him construct elaborate lies and nimbly turn away Voldemort's dangerous temper by merely a few words, gracefully sidestepping all of the verbal traps and insults that came his way. Harry knew it was his Slytherin traits that allowed him to survive this long undetected by Voldemort, and so that had slowly ingrained in the Boy-Who-Lived a tolerance for the sly House.  
  
    He had also recognized more than a few of those traits in himself over the summer as he slithered his way through the web of lies he had constructed to hide the abuse. It wasn't something that he was proud of - in fact, it sometimes made him downright ill with depression and guilt at times when he thought about it too much - but it had been essential for his sanity at the time. Besides, there were more important things to focus on besides petty House rivalries. Like preparing to kill Voldemort. Or be killed by him.  
  
    "I doubt that you'll have to worry about that too much," Hermione said. "They've been very quiet this year. In case you haven't noticed, Malfoy hasn't even so much as glared at us all year and he's had plenty of opportunities during the Prefect rounds we have together. He's even calling me 'Granger' instead of that ridiculous insult." Harry blinked in surprise. Truly, he _hadn't_ thought about it, and now that he did, he realized that it was true. Harry had been so focused on training and getting through the year that he hadn't even given a thought to the youngest Malfoy, and he was surprised by the faintest flicker of what could have been concern for the blond. What could have happened to make Malfoy give up his favorite sport of taunting Gryffindors?  
  
    "What d'you suppose they're up to?" Ron asked suspiciously. The bushy-haired girl rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated breath.  
  
    "Don't you get it, Ron? Their parents are probably pushing them to make a decision about getting the Dark Mark soon! Most of them are probably just too busy thinking about that."  
  
    "Shouldn't be too difficult for Malfoy and his lot; they'll be first in line if it means pleasing their daddies." Ron snorted disgustedly, but Harry stayed silent, musing to himself. After all, oftentimes rivals knew as much about each other as friends do. _Would they really? I may not know Malfoy well, but he doesn't seem the type to give in so easily._ He wondered.  
  
    "I don't know, it's more difficult for some of them than you would expect," Hermione said cryptically, pursing her lips. Harry thought he saw her glance at him quickly, an unreadable expression in her brown eyes, before the moment was gone. She and Ron were soon arguing on reasons why Slytherins weren't as evil as they had thought ("Haven't you been listening to the Sorting Hat at all? _Unity_ , Ronald!"). He wondered what she knew. But then he shook himself out of his contemplative mood and determined not to think about Slytherins and dragons any more than he had to. There were more important things at hand.  
  
    Remus was watching them with a wistful, nostalgic expression on his face, no doubt remembering similar arguments between Harry's own parents or something, and Harry quickly caught the werewolf's eye. With a grin, he jerked his head to indicate the other two and rolled his eyes, happy to see a more cheerful expression slide onto Remus' face. Yes, there were more important things at hand.

* * *

    Just as he'd suspected, rumors were running wild about Harry and his mysterious "fit" in the library that afternoon, and there was a faint tension underlying any classroom that Harry entered. In fact, the only people that didn't react negatively to his experience were his friends and allies - meaning, basically, the DA and the staff. Surprisingly, however, Harry noted that Draco Malfoy did little more than sneer at him or ignore him during the entire episode, something which Harry _knew_ was not normal for the slender blond. Mentally, he reminded himself that he needed to keep an eye on Malfoy, just in case. As the days passed, the tension began to fade and everything began to return to normal; or, at least, as normal as things ever became for the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
     _A blood-curdling scream rent the air, shattering any semblance of peace in the small neighborhood. Blood. Colored lights. The stench of fear and anger and excitement and Dark magic. Voldemort was pleased.  
  
    "Please, p-please! Don't... don't hurt me!"  
  
    More screams. Blending together, grating horribly against the ears as the sound reached impossible decibels. Harry closed his eyes tightly and slapped one hand to his scar as a surge of pleasure/pain sparked across it.  
  
    "No-"  
  
    "No, don't-! Please..."  
  
    Screaming. Would it never end? Hadn't the Death Eaters had their fill of Sport yet? They were nearly dead anyway, just use the Curse and get it over with-  
  
    "_Crucio! _" Pain. Overwhelming pain. But pleasure, as well, just beneath the surface. Not his pleasure. Voldemort. Harry's spectral form shuddered violently, his disgust palpable enough for Voldemort to feel it. Amusement trickled through their connection and Voldemort stepped forward to add a more... personal touch to the torture of the two muggles. Even though Harry wanted to turn his eyes away, to flee back to his body, he knew that he couldn't. He was stuck there in Voldemort's mind until he woke or until he was forcibly removed by the Dark Lord. And now that Voldemort was aware of his presence, the evil man easily held him in place, forcing him to watch.  
  
    Tonight, he was stuck behind Voldemort's eyes, watching from the snake's perspective as though it was he himself committing these vile acts. At times, Harry had materialized as a sort of spectral ghost in Voldemort's general vicinity, unseen and unheard. In either case, however, Harry was unable to affect any of the surroundings, use magic, or control Voldemort's movements.  
  
    A faint whisper of thought. __**Why, Potter, how nice of you to drop by and visit me,**_ _the Dark Lord mocked._ _ **As you can see, we are merely enjoying a bit of entertainment for the evening.**_  
     
    _Hatred._ _ **Bugger off, Tom!**_ _Harry snarled faintly, weak from the pain still coursing through him. The mental equivalent to a chuckle reverberated in his mind._ _ **Please, Harry, I would think that you would at least be able to form a mildly mature response. This muggle chit is hardly much better. Perhaps I can teach you both a lesson.**_  
  
 _"Move aside," Voldemort hissed, motioning impatiently at the Death Eater currently yanking one woman around by the hair. From his posture and build, Harry recognized the man as Rookwood. He could recognize most Death Eaters by now. The woman shakily looked up, tears running down her cheeks. A tiny, traitorous gleam of hope lit her blue eyes, and Harry felt a ripple of dismay as he came to the abrupt realization that there was no way that she would survive now. Hope had no place in the presence of Voldemort.  
  
    "Hello," the snake-like man said, almost pleasantly. Harry had only a split second to brace himself before the world dissolved into absolute pain and darkness.  
_  
     Harry let out a scream of pain mingled with fear and frustration as he was released from Voldemort's mind. He sat bolt upright in the confines of his bed and lurched forward onto his hands and knees. A bucket appeared out of nowhere and he grabbed it with both hands, vomiting into it violently. He quickly passed into the dry-heaving stage, having nothing much in his stomach, and tears burned in his eyes at the remembered pain and the ache of watching yet another person die.  
  
    Voldemort hadn't let the girl die quickly. Knowing that he was hurting two people with every cut and curse he cast, Voldemort was particularly cruel with the woman. Harry shuddered as the final convulsions of his stomach eased, remembering the pleasure that Voldemort had gained from the Sport. It was... like sex, to him. The bucket and its contents disappeared, leaving Harry to slump onto his mussed covers, a few tears squeezing out of his clenched eyes. He felt disgusted with himself, as well. After all, hadn't he wished death on the poor girl at one point - a swift _Avada Kedavra_ so that his own pain would end? A hoarse sob wracked his small frame, but he quickly held the others in. By now, he would have thought that he could get used to seeing Voldemort's activities, but...  
  
    Dully, in some distant part of his mind, he realized that he had conjured the bucket and banished it, wandlessly and soundlessly. However, he had more important things to worry about than this latest indication of his growing powers. He figured that he would need to talk to someone - Dumbledore - about it soon, but in the meantime...  
  
    Harry's visions and nightmares were growing worse. A night didn't go by where he was plagued by dreams of the countless people he had seen die, of his friends and family abandoning him, or worse, of his friends and family condemning him, blaming him for their deaths. Harry didn't want to think about what this indicated about his emotional health or how his experiences were affecting him.  
  
    The visions, while not any more frequent than two or three times a week, were becoming more powerful. When they had began after the events of the TriWizard Tournament, he had woken with a faint burning in his scar and a feeling of nausea. Now, they were so powerful that his scar burned fiercely before they even began. During a vision, Harry could feel every curse that the Dark Lord cast as if it had been placed directly on him. And ever since he had come to Hogwarts, he had been able to feel Voldemort's strong emotions, but now, if he didn't have his Occlumency shields up all of the time, he would be able to feel everything Voldemort was feeling (providing, of course, that Voldemort's shields were down as well). In visions, it was worse because Harry felt every sick emotion as if it were his own and even Voldemort's very thoughts were clear as day to him. Of course, Voldemort was aware of this just as much as Harry was.  
  
    By now, they both were aware that their connection was such that they would never be able to completely shield each other from their minds. Both were proficient enough at Occlumency to actively prevent the other from entering their minds during the day and they were also able to sense the other's presence most of the time if one of them slipped. Neither wanted to risk too much, so during the day they mostly kept tight reins on their minds and emotions, unless they lost control or one wanted to bug the other badly enough. At night, however, it was different.  
  
    Harry's arrival in Voldemort's mind (the Dark Lord was usually aware enough to not slip into Harry's sleeping mind accidentally as Harry was prone to do) was normally quite subtle. Most times, if Harry kept quiet enough and kept a tight rein on his emotions, he was able to remain undetected. The value of this was debatable.  
  
   Harry didn't sleep again that night. He spent the rest of the morning writing down the vision and focusing on reading through the small stack of books he had checked out of the library for instances such as these. _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord_ by Frank Lee Scarry, _365 Curses for the Constantly Cursed_ by U. N. Lucky, and __Bloodlines: The Guide to Magical Beings and Their Habits by Hal F. Wolfe were proving to be very helpful and interesting reads. After the summer spent learning and training, he felt as though he was finally getting a taste of what drove Hermione to excel in every class: a sincere desire to learn everything that he possibly could. Merlin knows that he had a good enough reason to.  
  
    It was this reason that prompted him to abandon the dark confines of his four poster to slink down to the Great Hall at a more reasonable hour, carrying his Defense textbook and the rest of his books for the day. As he waited for the Hall to fill, he read from the book, trying to keep his head off of the table as his sleepless night began to catch up with him. After re-reading the third paragraph on the 130th page for the fourth time and failing to retain any of it, Harry discreetly looked around and slid a hand into his robes. Only a few of the Professors were at the table, and only a handful of students had drifted down at 6:30 in the morning, so Harry removed his vial of Pepper-Up and downed it quickly, silently thanking Merlin that he had memorized the recipe by his third year so that he was able to brew it when he needed to.  
  
    Lowering the now-empty vial from his lips, Harry closed his eyes while he felt it rush through his veins, giving his body a kick start that quickened his heart, brightened his eyes, and brought a rosy flush to his pale cheeks. Opening his eyes as the initial effects faded, Harry froze when the first thing he saw was the expressionless silver-eyed gaze of Draco Malfoy as he entered the Great Hall. Forcing himself to move calmly and normally, Harry raised an eyebrow and inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement, quickly scanning the Hall with his peripheral vision as he did so. No one else was watching them.  
  
    How much had the sly Slytherin seen? Had he seen Harry's depressed exhaustion? What did he think of him now? But no, Malfoy was just raising an eyebrow in return with a faint, knowing smirk and he also bowed his head briefly before he proceeded to ignore the Boy-Who-Lived and sat down in his normal seat. Harry watched from the corner of his eye as food began appearing and he helped himself to a small bowl of applesauce, but Malfoy made no other motion of acknowledgement. It was yet another indication that things were not as they should be concerning Draco Malfoy. Pondering over the strange encounter, Harry returned his attention to his book.  
  
    After only a few sentences, however, he found himself glancing up again with a contemplative frown in Malfoy's direction (only to be ignored once more) before moving his gaze to the Head Table. A few more teachers were there, and Harry caught the eyes of the Headmaster, twinkling knowingly at him as the old wizard raised his pumpkin juice in a salute. This only served to increase the green-eyed boy's confusion, but luckily he was saved by the entrance of Luna Lovegood, who came to Gryffindor table to sit across from Harry. The odd incident faded to the back of his mind as he amusedly joined Luna in a conversation about camouflaging sloth flowers until a steady stream of students entered the Great Hall and Harry's friends arrived.  
  
    It wasn't until later in the day that Harry wondered why Malfoy had been up so early when he normally preferred to sleep in.  
  


* * *

     
    Harry trudged through the snow towards the castle with Ron and Hermione, discussing the most recent Care of Magical Creatures lesson. It was early December and the days seemed to be getting colder and colder with each passing week. _Not much longer now before the holidays,_ Harry thought contemplatively, looking over the frozen lake as they passed it. _Wonder where I'll be staying?_ Grimmauld Place would be the most obvious choice, but Harry wasn't entirely sure that Dumbledore would just ask them all to stay at Hogwarts for their own safety. And the raven-haired boy wasn't too sure that he didn't agree with the wise Headmaster, considering the increasing feelings of impatience and anticipation that were being sent through his scar. And it didn't take a genius to figure out that anything that made Tom Riddle happy wasn't good for the Light.  
  
    Voldemort was up to something. Something big.  
  
    Snape had been trying to figure out what it was, but Voldemort had apparently been extremely closed-mouthed about it; only speaking to the members of his Inner Circle during the day when Harry couldn't possibly enter his mind. Their only hope was that Snape would somehow manage to gain enough of Voldemort's trust to be admitted into the Inner Circle. But Harry knew as well as anyone how difficult - and painful - that would be to achieve. His respect for the man went up another notch.  
  
    "....wasn't bad, was it, Harry?" Hermione was saying, and Harry snapped back to reality with an automatic shake of the head indicating "no". Although, she could have been asking whether root canals were painful for all he knew. He resolved to pay more attention in the future.  
  
    "Well, no, of course it wasn't _bad_ ," Ron was saying exasperatedly. "I mean, I just thought it was a bit odd that we had a lesson on Clabberts in the middle of the 'mythical creature' section that Hagrid's been on about since the end of November. Clabberts aren't mythical creatures!"  
  
    "Honestly, Ron, don't you ever listen?" Hermione tsked, letting out a frustrated cloud of breath as she pulled her cloak closer. "Hagrid said at the start of class that he's been preparing for next class, so he took a spare day. He said that it will be really fascinating!"  
  
    "But he didn't say what it was, did he? It'll probably end up being Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, or something - Argh!" As he spoke, Ron was impatiently pulling up his robes to avoid trodding on them when he stumbled over a snow-covered step leading up to the castle. Hermione and Harry paused as he regained his balance, laughing freely as he huffed, red-faced. A small group of Slytherins trudged by them on their way up to the castle as well, and a few sneered hatefully at them but no one said anything. Harry couldn't help but notice that Malfoy just glanced over them with a bored expression on his face, barely catching Harry's eye with a glimmer of an emotion that Harry couldn't identify.  
  
    It was a mark of how much the Slytherin's strange behavior had affected Ron when the redhead merely scowled at their backs. It seemed a more force of habit than anything. And Hermione didn't even frown, opting instead to just ignore them. It had become rather empty, Harry realized abruptly. The rivalry, while still there, was not nearly as hostile or potent as it was before. Everyone was going through the motions as if everything was the same, as if something hadn't changed, as if they didn't notice Draco Malfoy's sudden... un-Malfoyness. Harry couldn't ignore it. He knew that _something_ similar to the rivalry was still there. It held the same kind of intensity. It was just... different. Changed. And Harry wanted to know what it was.  
  
    It had taken longer than usual to travel up the snow-laden paths from Hagrid's cabin to Hogwarts, so the three friends had to run to make it to Double Defense Against the Dark Arts in time. Luckily, they made it just before the bells rang and they sat down, smiling sheepishly at Remus as they removed their wet cloaks. Professor Lupin had been welcomed back enthusiastically by anyone older than a third year (and after the first couple of lessons, younger students greeted him eagerly as well) despite the now-common knowledge that he was a werewolf.  
  
    "So glad you could make it, you three," Remus said dryly. "We'll be covering advanced shields later, but first I want to introduce a topic that we will visit every so often for the rest of the year: soundless magic." Everyone sat up a bit more in interest, none more so than Harry, who felt relieved that he may finally get some answers to his worrying magical problems. He had been attempting to research a bit on his own and so he hadn't yet spoken to anyone about it, but unfortunately he had been mostly unsuccessful. Remus smiled patiently, standing up to pace slowly around his desk in front of the class.  
  
    "Now, I'm sure that you've all heard of wandless magic as well in myths and stories, but I assure you that it is far more rare and difficult than soundless magic. Both practices can be learned, but soundless magic is more common, more practical, and all-around easier to accomplish if you don't have a natural ability for it. By the way, neither of these two magics are directly related to the accidental magic you performed as children, but they are somewhat related in that they require a certain amount of magical power and strength to accomplish. Accidental magic is caused by uncontrollable surges in magical power as it adjusts to your body, while wandless and soundless magic require a great deal of power and concentration at the user's disposal."  
  
    "Then why are we learning it?" Blaise Zambini asked boredly, his interest fading. "It sounds like we won't even be able to do it."  
  
    Remus smiled. "I certainly wouldn't expect you to be able to learn wandless magic, Mr. Zambini, at least not in my lifetime. However, soundless magic often comes to witches and wizards naturally as they age, and so I thought it best that I give you a bit of warning beforehand. In most cases, soundless magic only manifests itself in spells that a witch or wizard is especially familiar with, such as _Lumos_ , _Nox_ , or _Wingardium Leviosa_. Spells that we have been taught from our childhood that we practice so often that our magic sort of acts on its own when it recognizes our intention to use the spell. This does not, however, seem to extend to wandless magic. Yes, Hermione?"  
  
    Hermione had raised her hand and was stretching it upwards with a nearly urgent expression. At his acknowledgement, she quickly lowered her hand. "Several books have mentioned that these magics were actually common in ancient times and their use has deteriorated throughout the years. Why is that?"  
  
    "Ah. An excellent observation. Take 5 points." The werewolf smiled. "Does anyone have an answer to Ms. Granger's question? Anyone? Mr. Longbottom?"  
  
    Neville had slowly raised his hand, a trace of the trademark apprehension from previous years on his face, but there was also a new determination in his eyes that had not been there before the fiasco at the Ministry. "Er... because it's so... hard?" Snickers traveled through the room and Neville flushed a bright red. Remus nodded reassuringly at the nervous boy.  
     
    "Yes indeed, that was one of the reasons, Mr. Longbottom. 5 more points to Gryffindor. Though that was not the only reason." Slowing his pace, he stopped and leaned against his desk with a thoughtful expression. "There are many theories as to why things are so different now than they were in ancient times. The theory that is generally accepted is that there were far fewer wizards back then - maybe only fifty or a hundred in all of Britain - and their magic was more... unrefined than ours. Without proper spells or wands (staffs were quite popular back then, I believe), they had to resort to wandless and soundless magic nearly by default, which limited magic usage to only those that were particularly powerful or knowledgeable. This is how many of our legends of Merlin come about.  
  
    "However, as time passed and certain magical communities formed, the wizarding population grew and huge advances in magic took place until we reach what we now know as modern magic. Now, the need for wandless or soundless magic is nearly nonexistent, but in these troubled times, it is important to at least be aware of the possibility of using soundless magic when an enemy is near." After a brief moment of silence to let that sink in, he smiled and continued.  
  
    "I think that is enough of an introduction for now. For the next half hour, try to use a spell you're very familiar with - silently! I want absolute silence to ensure complete concentration, but if you would like some additional help, you may ask me. Don't be discouraged! I would be quite surprised if one of you were able to get so much as a glow, but keep trying!"  
  
    Harry looked down at his desk, running his eyes over the familiar red holly wand that he had come to love as it sat innocently in the carved-out depression on the right side of the desk. He was slightly disappointed. Remus' explanation, while interesting, was not very helpful. From what he could gather, it sounded more like he was going through another phase of accidental magic than tapping into any sort of incredible power source. Besides, he had never had to use any great amount of concentration when he used it, and he never felt even a bit tired afterwards, so he couldn't be using too much power, either. He frowned slightly. It was all just too confusing. He was getting more questions than answers at this point.  
  
    He looked at his friends, seated to his left and right. Hermione was concentrating fiercely on the tip of the wand she held in her hand, her face set in a familiar expression of determination. She was probably trying to use _Lumos._ Ron, on the other hand, was despairing silently as he stared blankly at his wand, a look of consternation on his face. Harry sighed and looked back at his wand, picking it up and rolling it contemplatively in his fingers. He didn't particularly want to try, at least not in class. What if it worked? After what had happened last month, he figured that he didn't need to be the object of fear and scrutiny just yet.  
  
    "Harry?" The Boy-Who-Lived looked up sharply, startled from his thoughts. Remus stood in front of his desk, eyebrow raised. "You looked sort of thoughtful. Are you concentrating on trying a spell?"  
  
   "Er..." Harry muttered intelligently, a light flush of embarrassment dusting his cheeks. He narrowed his eyes at the tip of his wand, casting about for a spell he could attempt - without really attempting it. Suddenly, a shower of gold and red sparks erupted from the tip, reacting to his nervous tension. A few people looked over at the sudden burst of color and the blush on his cheeks deepened when giggles raced through the room. Everyone knew that the sparks weren't an actual spell.  
  
    "Very amusing, Mr. Potter. I would advise using a spell requiring an incantation, however." Remus smiled at Harry's grateful look and moved on, knowing that Harry hadn't meant the sparks to be a joke.  
  
    "Harry, be serious!" Hermione hissed at him, frowning in disapproval. Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and went back to staring at his wand. Before long, the half hour was up, with not one person completing a spell soundlessly. While Remus reassured everyone that this was normal, Harry surreptitiously looked around, seeing that at some point someone's wand had emitted a few puffs of black smoke - another 'default' reaction that all wands held - and he caught a glimpse of Malfoy scowling at his wand in frustration before the black-haired boy returned his attention to the front of the room.  
  
    Remus divided up the room into inter-House pairs - Harry was, unfortunately, paired with Malfoy right off the bat - and instructed them to practice the advanced shields they had studied in the previous class. Remus had been doing this ever since he had come back - once everyone got down the basic spells, they would be paired with a member of the other House to practice the advanced spells. And so it was that Harry and Malfoy found themselves standing across from each other with stiff, wary stances as they eyed each other.  
  
    " _Today_ , Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter," Remus called as he passed their group to tend to Pavarti, who had already been hexed by Pansy Parkinson (even though they had been specifically instructed only to use the disarming charm). The two continued assessing each other. Finally, Harry shrugged and raised his wand.  
  
    " _Expelliarmus!_ " He said casually. One of the first things Moody had taught him was not to shout his spells - since that gave his opponent a split-second warning - and that spells were affected by the intent of the user, not the loudness of the incantation itself. The red bolt of light shot toward Malfoy, who looked faintly startled before he jerked his wand up and shouted " _Protego Maximus!_ " The silvery shield that sprang up in front of him shuddered violently when it was impacted with Harry's spell and vanished after his spell dissipated. Immediately, Malfoy returned with a disarming spell and a glare, but Harry's shield remained firm and unyielding.  
  
    Practice continued in this manner for nearly the rest of the class period, with Malfoy improving each time. Harry began to fall into a steady rhythm that was almost enjoyable, even though he was trading spells with the sliest Slytherin in school. Spell, shield, pause, switch. Spell, shield, pause, switch. Faster and faster the exchange became until it was almost a battle of speed, red bolts of light flying across the space between them and silvery shields snapping sharply in and out of existence until both duelers were beginning to pant with tight, grim smiles on their faces.  
  
    Then, suddenly, Malfoy faltered for a split second, unable to raise a shield in time, and he caught the brunt of Harry's powerful disarming charm in his chest. His wand was torn violently from his grasp, soaring across the space to be caught automatically by Harry's deft fingers, but the spell didn't stop there. Malfoy was blasted backward with the force of the spell, almost as if he had been punched by a giant, and he collided with the wall behind him with a sharp crack that sounded incredibly loud in the silent classroom. Harry's heart seemed to stop, his breath catching in his throat as raw fear clawed up his insides, and he rushed to the slender blond's side, completely forgetting the fact that the boy used to be his enemy. _Oh Merlin, what have I done?_  
  
    Neither he nor Malfoy had noticed when the class had stopped what they were doing to watch the incredible exchange of spells, and Harry didn't notice now that a small scuffle was breaking out between a smug Ron and a wailing Pansy Parkinson while the rest of the class watched his movements with bated breath, wondering if he was going to finish the job. All of his attention was focused on the person in front of him. Carefully, with barely trembling fingers, he checked Malfoy's pulse and the dilation of his pupils and gently probed the growing lump on the back of Malfoy's head. He let out a sigh of relief when everything was normal, closing his eyes briefly to say a prayer of thanks. He didn't know what he would do if he had killed someone, even if it was a Malfoy and a potential Death Eater.  
  
    "Is he alright?" Remus asked from beside him after ordering the other students to keep clear. Harry nodded, relief starkly printed on his face.  
  
    "Yes, he's just knocked out. I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"  
  
    "I know, Harry, I was watching," the werewolf reassured him with a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder that made him flinch. "Everything will be fine. You'd better take him up to the Hospital Wing, quickly now." Harry nodded and stood up, conjuring a stretcher absently - causing Remus' eyes to widen in shock when he realized that Harry had done it without an incantation - before carefully levitating Malfoy's still form onto it. He didn't notice the guarded expression that crept over Remus' worn face, but instead hurriedly led the stretcher to the door. He was vaguely aware of a cacophony of complaints from the Slytherins in the room and Remus' attempts to calm them down, but by then he was out of the door and down the hall.  
  
    He reached the Hospital Wing in record time, bursting through the doors and calling for Madam Pomfrey. She came out of her office, not looking at all surprised to see him.  
  
    "Mr. Potter, I see that you're back here again. What is the pro- Oh!" She broke off, startled to see Malfoy drifting to a stop behind him on a stretcher. Well aware of the animosity between them just as the rest of the staff was, she fixed him with a steely gaze, swelling to impressive proportions. "Mr. Potter! Dueling again, have you?"  
  
    Before Harry could respond, they were both interrupted by a low groan coming from the stretcher as Malfoy stirred slightly, a grimace of pain twisting his aristocratic features. His captivating silver eyes fluttered open as he raised a hand to gingerly touch the back of his head. "Bloody hell," he groaned. "Feels like Pansy tried to make me snog her under the Whomping Willow again..." A snort of laughter escaped Harry before he could stop himself and Malfoy blinked, eyes widening with horror when he saw two of his greatest enemies standing above him. Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips in disapproval, taking control of the stretcher to make it rest on a nearby bed.  
  
    "Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy," she said, wasting no time as she ran her wand over him and bustled to a cabinet on the opposite wall, collecting several vials of potions. "Sit still, drink this, that, and this, and don't say another word until you've gained control of yourself." Malfoy scowled in response, but wisely followed her instructions, grimacing at the foul tasting potions. The medi-witch then ordered him to lay down and rest for the rest of the afternoon and bustled off to her office. Harry sat stiffly in the chair beside Malfoy's bed, feeling extremely awkward as he tried to think of something to say.  
  
    "'Gain control of yourself,'" Malfoy was muttering to himself angrily. "I'm always in control of myself! I'm a _Malfoy_ , for Merlin's sake! Doesn't anyone know what that _means_ anymore?" Harry stifled a grin that threatened to break out at the rich blond's indignant words. Malfoy suddenly seemed to remember he was there and turned a cold gaze onto the smaller boy, his face a familiar mask of indifference. "And why are _you_ still here, Potter? Come to add insult to injury? Wasn't enough to knock me unconscious, so you had to come up to gloat about it, eh?"  
  
    Any amusement on Harry's part slipped away abruptly and he stomped down on the irritation that automatically sparked through him at Malfoy's patented sneer. They had almost... well, they hadn't been getting along, but their duel had seemed more friendly than hateful at the time, and he had thought that Malfoy might... He took a deep breath and shook his head mentally, reminding himself why he was here. "For your information, I was the one who brought you up here," he said stiffly. "I just wanted to apologize for hurting you. I didn't mean for my spell to do that."  
  
    Malfoy snorted. "You honestly expect me to believe that you don't feel an ounce of glee, of triumph? That you're completely sincere? Come off it, Potter. You're not as perfect as you claim to be." Harry bristled.  
  
    "I never said I was! _You're_ the one that thinks I'm trying to be perfect! Bloody hell, Malfoy!" He stood up and clenched his teeth in frustration. Why couldn't he see? "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sorry. I nearly had a heart attack when I thought I'd killed you, because you've been so different this year and I thought... Well, I thought that you'd be different. Merlin knows why, but I thought you'd be fair for once in your miserable life!"  
  
    "Life isn't fair, Potter!" He shot back. "It's never been fair to me, so why should I even attempt at being fair to you? You hate me and I hate you, it's been that way since the minute you refused my hand."  
  
    "We all change, Malfoy, I would've thought you of all people would know that after what happened this summer!" Harry wasn't even sure what he was trying to say anymore, he was just throwing out words in frustration, but apparently he had struck a chord. Malfoy's face paled dramatically.  
  
    "What - what do you know about last summer? What have you heard?"  
  
    Harry paused, his anger fading in lieu of his curiosity. He had never seen such distress on his rival's face, even when he had nearly been killed by Buckbeak in third year. "I haven't heard anything. This year has just been different somehow, for all of us. I think the summer has been hard for everyone in one way or another." There was a long moment of silence, like the restless calm before a storm, as they both recognized the truth in that statement. Malfoy had turned his head away and was staring stubbornly out the window, his pale gold hair - missing its gelled look, which was also a new development since the Slytherin had returned from summer - was illuminated by the overcast sun as it lay on the crisp white pillow.  
  
    Sighing, Harry made his way over to the door, saying: "I just wanted to say sorry. See you around, Malfoy."  
  
    He was just about to leave when he heard a mumbled "Thanks, Potter," from the bed behind him, but when he turned around, Malfoy had his eyes closed and appeared to be falling asleep. A faint ghost of a smile tugged Harry's lips upward.  
  
    "Good duel, Malfoy." He whispered in reply, and left the Hospital Wing.

 


	3. Chapter 3

   "Ow! 'Mione!"  
  
    "Not me, Ron..."  
  
    " _Ow!_ Harry?!"  
  
    "It wasn't me."  
  
    "Right, you berk, and I'm the Minister of Magic!"  
  
    "What? It was 'Mione, not me! Why do you believe _her_ so easily?"  
  
    " _What?_ I don't- She's- er... Well, girls don't throw snowballs!"  
  
    "What was that, Ronald?"  
  
    " _Ow!_ "  
  
    "Alrigh', you three?"  
  
    "Yes, Hagrid!"  
  
    "Hey Hagrid!"  
  
    "Yeah, alright, Hagrid!"  
  
    "Righ' then, gather 'round. Gonna be a grea' lesson today."  
  
    It was two days after the strange conversation with Malfoy in the Hospital Wing. The sun was bright and the snow sparkling invitingly, prompting an impromptu snowball fight between the Golden Trio (mainly aimed at Ron) on their way to their Care of Magical Creatures class. The Slytherins had returned to their previous active hatred of Harry and his friends of last year ever since the perceived "attack" on one of their members, and the only people that Harry saw that continued the pose of indifference was Malfoy, Hermione, and Harry himself. Yet another mystery involving the blond Slytherin.  
  
    Harry jerked back to the present when Hagrid finished roll and began the lesson, his beetle-black eyes glittering with excitement.  
  
    "Righ'. Today, we'll be learnin' about th' _Fraexia Rector Pennatus,_ better known as th' Pennae or Guardians or th' Fallen." There was a gasp from several of the students and a great many of them perked up, looking interested. Confused, Harry immediately looked over to Hermione and was surprised to see a look of frustration on her face that he associated with the rare times that she had been unable to remember a certain topic that she had read about once before. Ron, however, was looking mildly excited. "Now now," Hagrid continued with a pleased grin beneath his bushy beard. "I know they're famil'ar to yeh wizarding folk, but the others need a quick int'erduction."  
  
    "Pennae're so unique 'cause they look so much like humans. In fact, if they were still 'round and the Ministry classified 'em as magical creatures, they'd fall in the same category as Mermaids, Werewolves, Vampires, Harpies, an' Veelas. Norm'ly, the only way yeh could tell if a bloke was a Pennae was 'is eyes ('cause they're so bright an' powerful-like), 'is speed, an' of course, 'is wings. The most defining charact'ristic of a Pennae is the little bumps on their back where their wings retract. Huge wings, too; most of 'em with a wingspan twice their heigh' to hold 'em in flight."  
  
    Pennae, it turned out, were said to be the creatures that wizards and witches were descended from thousands and thousands of years ago when they mated with humans in an attempt to preserve their species. An attempt, most theorists believe, that failed. Not long after they had begun mating with the humans, the rest of the Pennae were wiped out and so few records of their existence are preserved that most wizards believe them to be mere myths passed down through wizarding generations.  
  
    Those that were born to the Pennae and their human mate, Hagrid explained, were less powerful than a true Pennae but were far more powerful than the modern witches and wizards. With the rest of the true Pennae gone, the creature's human companions were left with instructions to mate their child with another half-Pennae offspring in order to strengthen the lines. They did so, but it still took a very long time before the population of these "wizards" were not in danger of being wiped out as well. By that point, the half-Pennae had discovered that the physical and magical characteristics related to their Pennae half were directly related to their magical power. For example, if a particularly powerful child was born to two humans with Pennae blood in them, then at some point in time it was possible that the child's magic could mature enough for its Pennae blood to dominate and it would become a full Pennae.  
  
    This occurrence became more and more rare as time passed, however, and the last known case of a wizard or witch becoming powerful enough to become a Pennae was nearly a millenia ago. And as the process for Animagus transformations were developed during this time, most wizards believed this "transformation" to be merely a failed attempt at becoming an Animagus. The Pennae blood - and thus their power - had become diluted throughout the years, and there were few wizards or witches born now that held even the possibility of becoming a full Pennae.  
  
    "I always wanted to become a Fallen," Ron confided to his friends later as they trudged up the hill back to Hogwarts after Hagrid's class. Next time, the half-giant announced, Dumbledore would be there to perform a spell that would measure their magical ability - and thus their chances of becoming a Pennae. "A lot of kids did. I mean, who _wouldn't_ want to be powerful and have wings that you could actually _fly_ with? We always heard these stories about them and there was always the _possibility_ , you know? But people stopped testing their kids for it at birth a long time ago... Most people think that babies were only tested so that they could be betrothed to another strong baby anyway, but purebloods don't really do that anymore."  
  
    "Well, I think it's positively barbaric," Hermione sniffed. "It's a wonder why those people went along with it back then; breeding their children to save a race of beings!"  
  
    "Er... The Guardians were being killed off by an evil King weren't they? Even though they were neutral." Harry interjected, squinting against the glare of the sun off the snow. "Maybe the humans just wanted to win the Pennae over to their side. People with enormous amounts of power and the ability to cast magic and fly would be invaluable allies."  
  
    "I suppose..." Hermione said, looking disheartened. "If they existed, I guess we wouldn't be here either."  
  
    "Besides, they would be able to fly!" Ron exclaimed. Harry and Hermione rolled their eyes.  
  
    "Right, Ron." Harry said sarcastically. The redhead didn't notice.  
  

* * *

  
    _A dull throbbing in his scar alerted Harry to the fact that he was having yet another vision. He sighed, despair and depression settling around his heart like a fog with a spark of anger. He had been having visions like this all summer, and just now it was only the start of his second week at Grimmauld Place. His deepest bruises were just beginning to heal and his carefully healed bones were still tender, but he hadn't had to deal with visions for the first week thanks to sleepless nights spent healing himself. Now, he could only count himself lucky that he had thought to put a silencing charm on his door.  
     
    Not wanting to see but knowing that he had to in case it was something useful, he slowly opened his eyes. Darkness. There were only a few flickering torches in the large room and it took some time for his eyes to adjust. When they did, he let out a tight sigh of relief. Voldemort was seated calmly in his stone throne like an arrogant emperor, a small group of his loyal followers crouched at his feet in a submissive bow. There was nothing, no overtly obvious tension or fear, to indicate that a torture was to take place, but then again, Harry had come to know that Voldemort was a mercurial man. His temper could flare in an instant and his laughter was as indicative of pain as his scowl.  
  
    "My loyal Death Eaters," Voldemort said, slowly standing to look down at them. "I think it's high time that we have a bit of... fun with our dear friend the Minister. After all, he has been so kind as to allow our activity to go unnoticed for some years and he kept our victims ignorant. It would only be fair to return the favor, would it not?"  
  
     A murmur of dark laughter traveled through the Inner Circle with a few gleeful "yes, my Lord". Harry's heart leapt, both in fear and in excitement. The Order could lay a trap for them! Voldemort continued.  
  
    "If, for example, our dear Minister received word that there would be an attack on the town of Greenwich, he would no doubt send in every Auror he has and valiantly win the day. A grievous mistake." Voldemort shook his head as if in pity, a slow smirk curling his white lips away from his teeth. "After all, what kind of Minister would not only lose half of his Auror forces in battle, but also leave more... important areas unprotected?" Laughter rippled through the room once more, but Voldemort straightened, suddenly brisk.  
  
    "Send out word among all the troops," he barked, "and I mean _everyone _. From that snivelling rat Wormtail to our sly Potions Master. We need everyone on the field before six o'clock tomorrow night."_  
  
    _There was a faint stirring of confusion as the Death Eaters shifted nervously. Harry could see why. Snape was nearly a permanent fixture in the potion's lab at Voldemort's castle and he was rarely called on any raids. Voldemort knew that he was not partial to Sport, preferring (supposedly) to see his victims suffer as a result of the dark potions he painstakingly, lovingly pored over. To bring their spy on an open battle with the Ministry was utterly foolish.  
  
    "Well? What are you waiting for?" Voldemort snapped. Another moment of silence. A hooded figure in the center bowed lower and took a step forward.  
  
    "Pardon my impertinence, Master," Lucius Malfoy said smoothly, "but do you believe it is wise to send Severus into a battle involving the Ministry? As you know, his... techniques leave something to be desired, and if he is caught then you will lose your primary spy in Dumbledore's ranks. Perhaps..." Harry tensed, his breath frozen in his lungs with fright at the man's stupidity. He braced himself for pain... that did not come.  
  
    "Your obvious concern for our cause is endearing, dear Lucius," the Dark Lord hissed mockingly. "But did you not think that I would have planned for that already? It is quite simple to retrieve one of our number from the incompetent fools at the Ministry, and I am starting to feel that Severus' position within Hogwarts is not nearly as essential to my plans as they were before my... temporary absence. His information is becoming scanty at best and yet he claims that he is closer than ever to the old fool's side. Perhaps it is time for our slippery friend to... retire and return to the fold permanently. After all, he has always hated those snot-nosed brats hasn't he?"  
  
    The elder Malfoy bowed in acceptance. "I understand, my Lord. Forgive my ignorance."  
  
    "Good. Now, go!" The small circle of robes stood quickly and proceeded to leave the room, pausing to kiss the hems of the Dark Lord's feet as they passed. Lucius was the last. As he stood and turned to leave, Voldemort stopped him.  
  
    "Oh, Lucius?"  
  
    The blond man turned, a faint tightness in his muscles betraying his fear. "Yes, Master?" The snake-like man smiled coldly, pointing his wand at him.  
  
    "Never question my orders again. _Crucio! _"  
  
_     Harry lunged up in bed with a choked scream, his heart pounding like a drum in his ribcage and a sheen of cold sweat coating his skin. He felt like he couldn't get enough air in his lungs. Slowly, he calmed down. There was no pain in his scar.  
  
    "Just a dream..." He breathed, his breath returning to normal. It had just been a nightmare. A memory. He remembered that vision as clear as day, but it confused him that he was having a dream of it now. It was neither traumatic nor particularly out of the ordinary. Laying back down, he stared at the dark curtains above his bed before closing his eyes and turning on his side in an effort to find a more comfortable position so that he could go back to sleep.  
  
    He remembered what happened after the vision as well. He had woken up hoarse from screaming and had instantly gotten out of bed, stumbling to the adjoining bathroom on shaky legs just in time to make it to the toilet. After he had managed to stop heaving, he had rushed to the room down the hall where he knew Snape was staying after an Order meeting had run late and he pounded on the door. When the door had wrenched open unexpectedly, Harry had only had enough time to glimpse the spy's expression change from emotionless to stunned before he had pitched forward and collided with the man's chest. He reached up automatically to grasp the man's robes for balance but was shoved away before he could get a good grip. He landed with a grunt and looked up into Snape's pale and furious face.  
  
    Too hurried to be embarrassed, he had blurted out the entire vision in a hoarse voice. Snape had listened, the anger on his face fading back into stone-like emotionless before he stiffly nodded his thanks, reached into his robes, and tossed a post-Cruciatus potion at the boy on the floor. Then the spy had shut the door in his face.  
  
    Harry sighed and turned onto his other side fitfully. From then on, a Pensieve was always available at all times in Grimmauld Place for relevant visions Harry might have that he could place there for the Order to view. They had known about his visions, of course, and he had actually been the first to suggest placing them in a Pensieve for viewing by the Order at the beginning of the summer, but Dumbledore had been reluctant to invade on

his privacy so much. Instead, he had simply given Harry a charmed parchment that - when written on by Harry - would sink into the page and appear on another parchment that Dumbledore held. As the war became more desperate, however, Harry had insisted that the Pensieve had become necessary and finally, Dumbledore agreed.  
  
    Afterwards, of course, he had had to deal with the concerned and pitying looks that other Order members - the ones that didn't know him too well - constantly sent him. Mrs. Weasley was the worst (though the combined efforts of Moody, Tonks, and Remus had finally made her back off), and it had taken Remus a few days to adjust, but after that, things had returned to normal. None of his friends had seen his visions.  
  
    As for Snape... Snape had taken the proper precautionary measures and had managed to avoid detection and capture during the raid - which, luckily, had been put to a stop quite soon as the Order had showed up and only an old crystal ball from one of the Ministry storehouses had been stolen before help arrived and the Death Eaters were forced out. This had been enough, however, for Fudge to be ousted out of office and for Madam Bones (Susan's aunt) to become the new Minister of Magic. Snape and Dumbledore had then collaborated to come up with more useful bits of information that the spy could pass on. Voldemort had been appeased, and everything went back to the familiar normalcy that Harry had come to accept and crave.  
  
    Nearly half an hour later, Harry pulled himself into a sitting position again with a groan. He couldn't sleep and he had forgotten to pick up some new books to read when he had dropped off the old ones. The fear that came with the nightmare had gone, but he was left awake and bored. Unbidden, his mind returned to the Defense lesson he had had three days ago. He hadn't attempted the soundless magic because he was afraid that it might actually work - it already had several times before - and he didn't want to be a freak anymore than he already was.  
  
    But... He thought back to his vision. Nearly a dozen muggles had still been killed in that raid in Greenwich even though they had arrived quickly. How many more would die because he was afraid of becoming more resourceful? Could he really afford to feel so selfish?  
  
    Eyes hardening with determination, Harry reached over the side of his bed and grabbed his bookbag by the straps. He then proceeded to upend it across the foot of the bed. Loose papers, books, quills, parchment, ink bottles, and other miscellaneous items spilled onto his rumpled covers before he dropped the empty bag and retreated back to the head of the bed. He stared at the small pile across from him and took a deep breath. He decided to try and work with a quill that lay innocently propped up between his Herbology book and an ink bottle.  
  
    Raising his wand hesitantly, he focused intently on the quill, tracing the graceful edge of the long feather to the tip before moving back down to the base. _Wingardium Leviosa,_ he thought firmly. Nothing happened. He tried again, keeping the image of the quill lifting and moving toward him in his mind before whispering the incantation in his mind. Nothing. Harry lowered his hand, disappointed, and stared at the quill with a furrow in his brow. _Why isn't it working?  
  
    _He tried to remember what had happened the other times he had performed soundless or wandless magic. All three times, a powerful emotion was involved, so he knew that it would work during times of stress. But he couldn't try and work up the fear or hatred or even love needed to perform the soundless magic each time he needed to use it. It would take far too long. Harry tried to use a different tack. What was the basis of emotion? What was the overall element that drove his magic to perform in such a way?  
  
  _Necessity._  
  
   Harry blinked as the answer came to him. _Of course._ It was so simple. He had _needed_ a bucket to vomit into, so it had appeared. He had _needed_ a light in the darkness to see, so his wand had lit up. After all, Moody had said that the strength of a spell depends on the will and intent of the caster, didn't he? His brilliantly green eyes hardened once more and he raised his wand, letting determination and need flood through him like a tidal wave. He could almost _feel_ his magic gathering, rising to the surface, eager to be used. He _needed_ this quill to levitate. _Wingardium Leviosa!_ The quill rose so fast that it stabbed through the canopy above his bed and he stared at it for a moment in surprise before a rueful grin crossed his face. _I did it!  
  
   _Now to get it down. He tried to use a little less determination this time around as he pointed his wand at the stuck quill. _Accio._ He could almost feel a branch, an "arm" of his magic reach out and wrap itself around the quill, pulling it down to Harry's level until he could catch it with deft fingers. Wonderingly, he ran his fingers over the quill as if he had never seen one before. It was official. It had worked. He had performed magic that only grown wizards should be able to accomplish.  
  
    He was a freak.

* * *

    "Harry? Are you alright? You look exhausted!" Harry raised his head from its place on the table in the library. After spending the night summoning, banishing, and transfiguring his school supplies (he had even tried wandless magic and found that it worked on the same principle but was more difficult and he hadn't been able to get them both to work at the same time yet), he found that his body and magic felt more exhausted than they normally would after performing only a little bit of wandless magic. It made sense, considering how much magic he had used, but he couldn't hide the effects from his friends.  
  
    "Yeah, I just had a nightmare and I couldn't go back to sleep," Harry explained softly and cleared a bit of room so that they could sit down. "I came down before breakfast to check out some books, but I guess I'm more tired than I thought." As he turned to set a stack of books on the floor next to his chair, he caught a glimpse of white-blond hair and black robes disappearing around the corner of a set of shelves and he frowned slightly. _Why was Malfoy watching us?_  
     
    After trying - and failing - to convince Harry to go to the Hospital Wing (he had another Pepper-Up in his pocket anyway), his friends took him down to the Great Hall, where the Christmas decorations announced that the joyous season was in full swing. There were only a few more days until Christmas break. Harry had come to love the Christmas season ever since he had come to Hogwarts, but like many things in his life, he didn't love it all the time. It had been a painful source of rejection, loneliness and sadness in previous years and the juxtaposition of a few good memories with the bad always left him rather confused. He couldn't quite convince himself that the way that it was at the Dursley's wasn't the way that it should be.  
  
    These thoughts usually plagued him around this time of year and he was occasionally glad when at least one of his friends went home so that he could have that extra bit of solitude to wrestle with his feelings. And, if he was honest with himself, the solitude made him feel more comfortable because it was closer to the way things were "supposed" to be - the way it had been in the dark quiet of his cupboard while his family had spent Christmas together.  
  
    However, he wasn't sure whether he would be able to afford that luxury this year. If Dumbledore let him go to Grimmauld Place, he would be surrounded by Order members for the entire break, and if he stayed at Hogwarts, his friends would surely stay as well. It was both frustrating and wonderful that they were such good friends.  
  
    "Hey, Harry!" Neville said, smiling as Harry took his place at the Gryffindor table. The shy boy had grown over the summer into a more confidant, powerful wizard with a fierce protective streak and unbeatable loyalty. He was currently getting up the nerve to ask Hannah Abbot from Hufflepuff out to Hogsmeade. Harry smiled back at his friend.  
  
    "Hi, Harry!" Ginny said before he could respond. She had also grown into a slender redhead with a spitfire temper and a devious personality. There was a short time when Harry had thought that he had fancied her, but he had never acted on his feelings. He knew that it was too dangerous to be in such a relationship with Voldemort watching him so closely. Ginny would have been an obvious choice and there would be no doubt that she would be targeted. However, through various conversations he had had during the summer, he discovered that that he was too late; not only was she dating someone else, but she had also grown out of the childhood crush she had had on him two years ago. She thought of him as a brother, nothing more, and Harry had - slightly reluctantly - let the doomed romance die. A small part of him rather thought that the fact that she was an inch taller than him already had helped the changing feelings.  
  
    "Hey Neville, Ginny," Harry said. He poured himself a steaming cup of tea and sipped it as they slipped into a conversation about the upcoming winter break.  
  
    "I'm going to spend it with my gran," Neville said, looking a little glum about it. "Like I do every year. It's not that bad, really, but sometimes I wish I could spend it with some wizards my own age instead of my great uncle and his niece Gertie. My gran won't hear a word about me staying at Hogwarts for the hols, though."  
  
    "Well, I'm not too sure where I'm staying," Ginny said. "I can't decide whether I'd like to stay here or go to... er, home. What about you, Harry?"  
  
    The black-haired boy shrugged, tearing off a bit of a bagel and popping it into his mouth. "I'm leaning a bit towards Hogwarts, myself. I'm not sure if I want to - to leave Hogwarts just yet. Besides, Remus needs to stay here for most of the hols anyway to grade papers and prepare for his classes. He'd probably like some company." Ginny was nodding sympathetically at his comments, while Neville just looked confused.  
  
    "Well, either way, I'm looking forward to no classes," the shy boy said agreeably, "especially Care of Magical Creatures." This elicited a laugh from Harry and Ginny, who both knew that the only reason that Neville hadn't dropped the class was because it was required for his chosen career in Herbology. He had gotten over his fear of Hagrid long ago, but his relationship with the creatures Hagrid brought to class was decidedly shaky at best.   
  
    "Have you heard about the magical test Hagrid's going to have Dumbledore perform on everyone?" Ginny asked excitedly. "He's doing it in all the years and I think it's simply fascinating!"   
  
    "Right, I'm already preparing myself for humiliation," Neville said miserably. "Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins will still be making fun of me on graduation day."  
  
    "Don't be so sure about that," Harry said encouragingly. "You're a smashing wizard, Neville! You perfected your Patronus ages ago - and I'll bet all the galleons in my vault that Malfoy couldn't even produce a puff of smoke." A blush crept up Neville's cheeks, but he looked pleased. Everyone knew it was true. Neville, along with the Creevey brothers, had improved the most through Harry's careful tutelage in the DA and they were all truly formidable wizards when they needed to be. When Neville had been the first to finally perfect his Patronus - a gigantic lion - at the beginning of the year, the DA had thrown a massive party that lasted well into the next morning.   
  
    "It's only thanks to you, Harry. My gran was so happy she nearly smothered me when she saw my OWL results. I still can't wait to show her my Patronus."  
  
    Later that day, Harry, Hermione, and Ron trudged through the snow once more to reach Hagrid's hut. The Slytherins were already there, huddled together to keep warm and eyeing the cheerful half-giant with suspicion. Harry's friends were once again engaged in a brief spat and it was only Harry's quiet observation that Dumbledore wasn't there that halted the quarrel.   
  
    "Well, he's probably just late," Ron said indifferently, dismissing Harry's concerns instantly. Hermione furrowed her brow, unconvinced, and she turned to him.   
      
    "Did you have a dream last night, Harry?" She asked, worriedly. "I mean, I know you said that you had had a dream last night, but could it have been... more than that?" Harry frowned slightly, resisting the sudden urge to snap. He hadn't told his friends very much about his visions at all, so there was no reason that they should know how well Harry had come to know the workings of his own mind. After his ignorance the year before about the "visions" he had been receiving from Voldemort, Harry had made it a priority in his Occlumency training to recognize the signs of a false vision or dream. With Dumbledore's teaching, his mind had become highly sensitive as well as highly organized.  
  
    Instead of saying this, however, Harry just said simply, "I think I would have been able to tell if it was a vision. Albus taught me well."   
  
    "I thank you for the compliment, my boy, no matter how undeserving it may be." A familiar voice from behind made them all jump; especially Harry, who spun around so fast that he nearly slipped in the snow. His wand was in his hand instantly, but he stopped himself before he raised it as the Headmaster's voice registered. His teacher chuckled and the Boy-Who-Lived blushed.   
  
    "Careful, Harry, you don't want to land yourself in the Hospital Wing after you've avoided it for so long," the old wizard said. Hermione and Ron snickered and Harry scowled good-naturedly. They continued walking, Dumbledore now strolling sedately ahead with Harry while his two friends lingered a few steps behind them, letting the two powerful wizards talk. Dumbledore's tones became more serious. "What is this I hear about a dream?"  
  
    Harry shrugged a bit, watching the ground with a furrow in his brow. "It was nothing too important, sir... at least I don't think so. It was just a nightmare about a vision I had during the summer - the vision before Voldemort lured the Aurors into a trap. I just thought that it was strange, since the vision wasn't very... er, memorable, like my other visions tend to be. Other than that, I didn't sense anything else."  
  
    "I see. Have you dreamt of this particular vision before?"  
  
    "No, sir. Do you think that Voldemort might have something to do with it?"  
  
    "There is no way of telling. There are certain means of implanting a memory in another's mind that are nearly undetectable, but on the other hand, it is entirely possible that it was simply what it appeared to be: a dream. It would not do to always jump at shadows, Harry, like a certain mutual acquaintance of ours." A crooked smile briefly wandered over Harry's face at the reference to Mad-Eye Moody, but it did nothing to alleviate his sudden concern.  
  
    "The only reason Voldemort would want to do something like that would be to prevent me from having a vision - from seeing what he was doing at the time." Harry mused slowly, letting his thoughts evolve as he spoke. "Maybe there was something about that particular vision... something that was maybe unintentional when it was chosen. Something about the attack..? Or Snape?" He fell silent, unaware of Dumbledore's proud gaze as he came closer and closer to the most probable answer. He was broken from his thoughts when Hagrid hailed them from the steps of his cabin, but as they moved to join the rest of the students, a part of Harry's mind continued to puzzle over the little problem.   
  
    Little did he know that the answer would come too late.  
  


* * *

  
    "Alrigh', I wan' to thank Pr'fessor Dumbledore fer helpin' us," Hagrid began, eyes glittering with excitement. "This is a compl'cated spell and I wan' everyone to know tha' there are lots of ways to interpret the results. Fer example, there are many diff'rent kinds of strengths tha' yeh all hold. Mental, physical, magical, or emotional. In tha' way, ev'rybody's got strengths. However, if yeh want the Pr'fessor to perform the spell privately - or not at all - just say the word. This is not a graded assignment." He paused to let that sink in, an unfamiliar expression of solemnity on his hairy face.   
  
    Harry watched proudly, glad to see that Hagrid had flourished into his role of a teacher in that he no longer threw his students into the face of danger every class despite protests. Suddenly, a brief flash of... something - pain, fear, anger? - sparked through Harry's mind as Hagrid opened his mouth to continue and the Boy-Who-Lived flinched instinctively, his breath hitching as an unidentifiable emotion clawed up his lungs. It was gone as soon as it had arrived, but without conscious thought he turned his head and cocked it to the side as if listening while his eyes searched for something along the edge of the Forbidden Forest. For what, he didn't know, but sudden movement in the dark shade of a huge tree alerted him to the object that his instincts had known was there. He froze.  
  
    "Now, what's goin' to happen is-"  
  
    "H-Hagrid..." Harry choked out, his words faint as he continued to stare wide-eyed at the Forbidden Forest. Only those near him heard so he raised his voice as he shakily got to his knees. "Hagrid!" Then, with a surge of energy, Harry surged to his feet and took off toward the injured creature stumbling out of the woods. The half-giant broke off his speech immediately, his head snapping around at the urgency in his favorite pupil's voice. When he followed Harry's gaze, he swore loudly and quickly turned to scoop up the crossbow and call for Fang before he hurriedly dismissed the class. Dumbledore, ever calm although his eyes strayed constantly to Harry and Hagrid's forms, herded the curious and confused teenagers toward the castle despite their attempts to question him and crane their heads around to look. For, to most of their eyes, there was nothing out of the ordinary at the forest's edge. The others stared in horror at the broken gait of the Thestral, which was bleeding profusely as it stood just outside of the Forbidden Forest.  
  
    Harry wasn't exactly sure why he was moving so urgently toward the silent beast, but there was something about the way that it trembled from either fear or pain and the way its blank, dead eyes staring directly at him that spurred him to reach the creature's side. Hagrid was shouting at him not to get too close, but Harry ignored his friend. Somehow he knew that the animal meant him no harm. He stopped just a few steps from the Thestral, its blind gaze pinning him in place as its sides heaved for breath. Hesitantly, Harry reached out in a calming motion, but just before his trembling hand touched the Trestral's muzzle, the beast's black hide shuddered violently and it collapsed to the ground. Harry took a startled step back, his emerald eyes wide and disbelieving as Hagrid puffed up next to him and dropped next to the Thestral's quivering body.  
  
    Still, the creature made no sound, and Harry abruptly became aware of just how very quiet it was. The other students were well on their way back to the castle by now and the Forbidden Forest was dark and silent. He could only hear Hagrid's worried mumbling and the Thestral's heaving snorts. It all seemed wrong, somehow, and so very surreal. Harry remembered abruptly that Hagrid was the only known person to have ever tamed a herd of Thestrals, and his heart ached at the loss he knew the half-giant was feeling. He stepped forward and laid a small hand on his first friend's shoulder, watching the dying creature with sad eyes.  
  
    "'s human," Hagrid said dully, his large fingers gently stroking the Thestral's bony side. The black hide rippled again. "The wounds... were caused by human weapons."  
  
    "Muggles?" Harry asked quietly, surprised. Hagrid shook his head.  
  
    "Prob'ly not. The cuts're too straight 'n' deep for a muggle to get close enough with a knife. An' look, 'is right rear hoof is gone. So's most of 'is wing and tail. Wizarding ingredients."  
  
    "Poachers..." Harry murmured. Distantly, he heard several adults approaching, thier voices faint and distorted to the rushing in his ears. He looked away from the suffering creature and stared into the shadowed depths of the Forbidden Forest. "They might still be there, Hagrid. They could be hurting others!"  
  
    Hagrid shook his head again, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "Naw. Yeh can only catch one Thestral at a time. The others will fly like a bat outta hell while the one is caught an' killed. That's how the herd works."  
  
    "Harry!" Remus reached them, sparing only a glance toward the Thestral before he pulled Harry into a brief embrace and scanned the nearby forest with sharp eyes. "Merlin, are you alright? Come on, we need to get inside. Quickly!" Ignoring Harry's sudden stiffness, he grabbed the slender boy's arm and began leading him away.   
  
    "Wait! Hagrid!" Harry struggled for a bit, straining to look back at his friend. He watched the half-giant's hunched form as the dying animal released its last breath, its eyes remaining open and staring in Harry's direction. The breath caught in Harry' throat and he suddenly heard Hagrid let out a low wail of despair. The Thestral had died. Harry stopped struggling. Remus whispered comforting words to him as they hurried up to the castle, but nothing registered in his mind. He was too busy thinking. There was no doubt in his mind that Voldemort had something to do with this. After all, how many people knew that there was a herd of Thestrals at Hogwarts; where else could one go if they were looking for such dark ingredients? He was sure that this had something to do with whatever Voldemort had been up to lately.   
  
    He resolved to spend lunch in the library to research rituals or potions that required Thestral parts. He wasn't hungry anymore anyway.

* * *

    In the week following, Harry didn't make any progress researching Thestrals themselves, much less the potions or rituals they were used in. It was only a school library, after all, and such dangerous Dark magics were not easily found. Care of Magical Creatures classes were being held in the Entrance Hall, but Hagrid seemed hopelessly distracted (they never even finished the lesson on Pennae, much to the student's disappointment) and Harry didn't dare ask Hagrid for help when he was clearly grieving. Meanwhile, winter break was approaching swiftly and an anxious feeling was growing in the pit of Harry's stomach, warning him that something was not right. His visions were frustratingly useless, filled with Death Eater Sport or raids on small wizarding towns, but he grew more and more certain that Voldemort was up to something.   
  
    "Harry, calm down! You won't solve anything just by pacing back and forth; you don't know enough information to be of any help to the Order. They'll tell you if they find out anything that involves you." Harry ignored Hermione. His eyes, dark green in the wavering light of the fire, were trained intently on the ground at his feet. The increasing feelings of anticipation and triumph that colored his nights were getting to him, making him jumpy and tense as the days passed. He didn't even notice that his anxiety was mirrored in Draco Malfoy, who was becoming increasingly pale and thin as the days passed, with dark circles under his eyes.    
  
    "Yeah, come on, mate, you've been on about this for days," Ron said, his blue eyes watching his slender friend worriedly. Despite the appearance to the contrary, Ron was actually quite attune to Harry's moods and habits - except when he was in a jealous funk - but having grown up in a crowded household, he was sure to give Harry his privacy and he never asked many questions about Harry's more destructive habits. In a deep part of his mind, he suspected that he was scared; he really didn't know how to deal with his friend's tendency to stop eating when he was stressed, or how Harry bottled everything up until he had to release his stress by violently attacking Death Eater dummies. Ron didn't want to think about it, but he tried again. "Just relax, Harry. The hols are starting tomorrow; let's go flying for a bit. It's cold out, but it'll probably give you a good slap in the face to wake you up." Harry snorted and Hermione sighed exasperatedly.  
  
    "As pleasant as that sounds," Harry said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "I don't feel much like getting slapped in the face."  
  
    "Aw, c'mon mate, you know that's not what I meant," Ron wheedled, sensing a weakness. "Don't you want to feel the wind in your hair one more time before we're cooped up inside for the hols? The brisk air, the freedom, the dizzying heights?" No matter his other faults, Ron certainly did know Harry's attraction to flying very well (even if he didn't completely understand the idea of flying for the sake of flying when there wasn't a game to be had), and it was clear to them that Harry's stress was finally getting to him and he was yielding against Ron's attack.  
  
    "I suppose it would be nice..." Harry admitted, loathe to leave his research behind but knowing that he would do no one any bit of good if he remained the tangled mess of nerves and worry that he currently was. His two friends celebrated silently at the victory and Ron vaulted over the couch to grab his broom, but Hermione abruptly stopped him.  
  
    "Where do you think you're going, Ronald Weasley?" She asked frostily, indicating the homework they had been working on together at the table by the fire. "This homework must be completed before the end of term and I will _not_ stand by and let you procrastinate any more than you already have. Harry has already finished it, so he may go, but _you_ are staying with me until you finish these essays!" Ron winced and let out a pathetically long moan of dismay, his entire being drooping as he turned back to the couch.   
  
    "Hurry, mate, escape while you can," he whispered sadly to Harry, who hid his grin behind his hand. "It may be too late for me, but my spirit will be with you. Hurry!" With a solemn nod and a quick salute, Harry left through the Fat Lady's portrait and jogged down the empty halls, letting his grin creep over his face as he reflected on what good friends Ron and Hermione were. They were a rarity, to be sure.  
  
    Sunset was just beginning to tint the sky over the Quidditch Pitch as Harry made his way to the bleachers and stared up at the wispy clouds for a long moment. The air was cool; crisp enough for him to see his breath, but he knew that it wouldn't last once he started flying. Raising his wand, he quietly summoned his broom and silently contemplated the snowy landscape until he heard it approach. He quickly jumped on and launched from the ground, wheeling up higher and higher into the air, feeling his cares and worries dropping from him like so much baggage.   
  
    There was no Voldemort. No abuse. No Malfoy. No visions. No prophecy. No fame. No burdens.  
  
    Harry lost track of time. Twilight had advanced significantly by the time his attention was distracted by movement below him. Pulling his broom to a slow stop, he watched as a strangely familiar shape trudged through the snow to the edge of the pitch, its hair so pale and fair that it was almost lost against the white snow. Interested, vaguely annoyed by another person's intrusion into his peaceful sanctuary, the Boy-Who-Lived floated lazily as the figure paused to take in the landscape, much as he had done, before mounting their broom and launching into the air. They were soon even with each other.  
  
    "Potter."  
  
    "Malfoy."  
  
    Silence.  
      
    "I don't suppose you would be so kind as to allow a lowly Slytherin such as myself to be in your almighty presence for the next while, eh Potter?"   
  
    "Certainly, Malfoy," Harry murmured, trying not to show his annoyance at the blond's sarcastic sneer. "You have just as much right to the air as I do." The Slytherin paused, as if he hadn't expected such an easy acceptance. Before he could respond, Harry drifted away, picking up speed as he leaned close to his broom and smoothly circled the pitch. He wanted to savor what was possibly his last calm night at Hogwarts before the holidays - if he returned to Grimmauld Place, his time would be taken up with training and the Order, and if he stayed at Hogwarts, it would be taken up with studying and more training. Needless to say, he hardly had time for a childish rivalry with Draco Malfoy at the moment.   
  
    As time passed, Harry was surprised to find that the blond had been so quiet that he had almost forgotten that he was there. Glancing around, he saw that Malfoy was several feet below him, flying as calmly and sedately as Harry himself had been. Obviously, he had no intention of starting a fight tonight, either. As the boy passed beneath him, Harry just barely glimpsed an expression of peace on his pale, aristocratic features, his pink lips curved in an almost-smile. The Boy-Who-Lived had never seen such an expression on his rival's face, which was normally so pinched and tightened by anger and frustration and hatred that it was no wonder that Harry had never even imagined the other boy could feel an emotion other than those. Harry was startled by the sudden surge of feeling in his chest, so strong and unexpected that he almost feared that Voldemort was attacking him again. But no, this feeling was different... It was warm and throbbing almost like a living being, a fierce sense of camaraderie and understanding so strong that Harry unconsciously dipped his broom handle to meet the blond.  
  
    As the cold wind rushed past his face however, and he saw Malfoy look up, startled - the calm expression vanishing from his face - Harry came to his senses abruptly. What was he doing? This was _Malfoy_ , of all people! There was no one in the world that would be less accepting of a gesture of understanding from Harry Potter! But it was too late to pull up now without having to give some reason for his abrupt descent, so Harry just kept flying, rushing past the stunned Malfoy and twisting into a sharp corkscrew. With a bit of fancy flying, he twirled out of the corkscrew and brushed the snowy ground with his broom tail before he shot upward, toward the goal posts on the opposite side of the field.   
  
    Before long, however, he was surprised to hear the gentle whoosh of another broom approaching him from behind. He glanced back and caught a glimpse of Malfoy's flashing grey eyes fixed on his own, his mouth set in intentness and concentration, and Harry's surprise faded to be replaced with a lingering surge of his previous emotions, along with a healthy dose of mischievousness. The slight raven-haired boy sent a quick grin back at his pursuer and his deep emerald green eyes shone brightly in the fading light before he winked and tightened his thighs around his broom, shooting forward in a burst of speed. Flipping upside down, he shot through the center hoop and executed a sharp u-turn that sent him speeding back the direction he had come. Malfoy followed.  
  
    For the next several minutes, the two chased each other across the Quidditch pitch, streaking above the pristine snow in the dim light of sunset, as smooth and playful as otters in a forest stream. Sharp twists and turns, abrupt dives, loops, and paralleling corkscrews, Malfoy matched Harry perfectly in everything he did, his pale form making perfect contrast to Harry's dark hair and cloak. They had been close enough to speak or touch several times, but nothing was said - all was communicated through glances and barely concealed emotions. Just coming out of a dive, they shot upwards again, high above the goal posts, before Harry suddenly dropped down again. He plastered himself close to his broom and twisted into a violent corkscrew. Malfoy followed once more, but opposite to Harry. Just as the last light vanished behind the Forbidden Forest, bathing the pitch in a wash of pale blue, the two executed a final dance.  
  
    To an observer, had there been one, the double helix was absolutely breathtaking in its daring and beauty. The two spiraled toward the snow-covered earth like twin birds, graceful and smooth as silk. As the ground rushed up to meet him, Harry's concentration wavered when he caught a glimpse of his opponent as they passed one another. Malfoy's fine silver-blond hair was whipping away from his face, an expression of pure unadulterated delight and exhilaration in the way his lips parted in a grin and his eyes shone with the excitement and fire of a challenge. Harry's lungs seemed to freeze and his breath hitched, time seeming to slow until the Slytherin passed beyond his field of vision and he became aware of where he was. They were still plunging to the earth, and in the wake of the confusing feelings he felt in his chest, Harry noticed with a panicked flutter in his stomach that the ground was coming up on them very quickly.   
  
    He pulled out of the spiral, coasting along evenly with the ground and unconsciously going slower as he waited for his heart to slow back down. He realized his mistake a second later when the force of another body slamming into him knocked him off his broom. He let out a startled cry before the impact with the ground expelled the breath from his chest and he and Malfoy rolled into the snow, their legs becoming entangled and their brooms flying several yards away as they slid to a stop.   
  
    Everything was still for a long moment. Harry kept his eyes closed as the muffled pounding in his ears faded to the sound of his heartbeat and he could hear the faint sounds from around him - the heavy pants of both he and Malfoy. There was a dull pain spreading from his right side and back where the blond had hit him, but he knew from experience that it wasn't bad. Nothing broken, at least.   
  
    "Potter."  
  
    Malfoy.  
  
    "Potter. Are you dead?"  
  
    "Ungh. Unfortunately for you, I'm not." Harry grunted, sliding his eyes open. All he saw was snow. He shifted a bit, wincing as a bit of pain flared in his hip.   
  
    "Yes, well, fortunately or not, having established that you are indeed alive, it would be best if you got off of me now." Malfoy's voice, as dry and unruffled as ever, sounded far closer than it had before. Right next to Harry's ear, in fact, and the Boy-Who-Lived shivered a bit at the warm gust of air before he stiffened as Malfoy's words registered and he turned his head. His wide eyes, uncovered by his glasses which had been knocked off in the fall, were nonetheless able to see the slender blond's striking silver eyes quite clearly as their noses were only an inch apart. The warmth of their breaths mingled as they searched each other's eyes for a split second. The Slytherin's eyes glittered with the aftermath of a victory and something else that Harry couldn't read, but all too soon Harry became aware of the awkwardness of their position and he shot up, blood rushing to his face in a blush that he was sure rivaled even Ron's.  
  
    Perhaps it was the combination of the blood rushing to his head and the abrupt movement, but Harry's vision suddenly became fuzzy at the edges as his head swam. Leaning forward with his hands on Malfoy's slender chest and his head lowered, Harry didn't hear the blond groan when he unconsciously clenched his thighs around Malfoy's hips where he straddled the other boy's pelvis as he squeezed his eyes shut against the roaring in his ears and the loss of his equilibrium. It quickly passed, however, and he found himself hesitantly opening his eyes to meet Malfoy's heated silver-eyed stare. The unidentifiable emotion suffused within those grey eyes made him nervous and he blinked his green eyes in confusion.   
  
    "Er, M-Malfoy..." He was cut off when the blond suddenly grabbed his arms and surged upward, flipping Harry onto his back so that Malfoy was the one crouched above him, Harry's legs still sprawled out wantonly on either side of his hips. Harry flushed again at the suggestiveness of this position and he wriggled beneath the Slytherin in discomfort despite the hands that held his wrists pinned down in a vice-like grip. He froze when he heard a muffled moan from above him. _Was that... what I think it was?_ He looked up, but he saw nothing but Malfoy's intense gaze and the beginnings of a smirk at the corner of his lips.  
  
    "Well, well, what do we have here?" He drawled. "I do believe that I just beat Harry Potter, the Golden Boy Gryffindor, at his own game. How does it feel, Potter, to lie helplessly beneath me, knowing that I am superior?"  
  
    The embarrassed flush on Harry's cheeks faded to an angry one as the raven-haired boy narrowed his eyes at his rival. "Get off it, Malfoy, you didn't beat me at anything. You were just too stupid to slow down while you were following me. It's _your_ fault we crashed."   
  
    Malfoy leaned down, his nose nearly touching Harry's as he hissed sensually, "Ah, but that's where you're wrong. The game wasn't to _follow_ you, it was to _catch_ you." He leaned down a fraction further, their lips almost brushing, and his body pressed closely to Harry's as he breathed his final words. " _And I won._ "   
  
    And then the pressure was gone and the cold of the wind and snow quickly swept over Harry's front as Malfoy's warmth vanished. Harry's eyes, which had at some point drifted shut, snapped open and he drew in a startled gasp, feeling as though he had been holding his breath as well. He struggled to his elbows in the snow and bent his knees to plant his feet on the ground, his mind still numb as he saw that Malfoy had picked up his broom and was rearranging his cloak. Tipping a victorious smirk and a salute to the flabbergasted Gryffindor, he turned back to the castle, calling over his shoulder, "Happy Christmas, Potter."  
  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is Christmas, and wings.

  _"The game wasn't to_ follow _you, it was to_ catch _you."_  
  
    "Harry..."  
  
    _"And I won..."_  
  
    "Harry. _Harry!_ "  
  
    The green-eyed boy snapped back into his surroundings, his eyes widening in surprise when he saw a folded note tapping impatiently up and down on its corner around the rim of his glass of pumpkin juice, his name written in familiar loopy handwriting on the front. He hastily snatched up the note, which promptly went lifeless in his grasp, and smiled sheepishly at a peeved - and slightly worried - Hermione across the breakfast table.  
  
    "Honestly, Harry, what's the matter with you? You've been zoning out all morning! Is there something wrong?"  
  
    Harry shook his head, letting out a sigh and giving her a weak grin. "No, I'm alright, Hermione. I've just... well, something happened last night, and it's been on my mind..." He confessed, not wanting to reveal too much. Her eyes widened and she leaned closer, ignoring Ron who was also leaning forward with a half gnawed-on sausage speared on his fork.  
  
    "Oh! Did something happen? Was it V-Voldemort?"  
  
    "No no, nothing like that," Harry reassured her quickly, feeling increasingly uncomfortable. He could feel someone staring at him and he briefly raised his eyes across the Great Hall, just barely glimpsing Malfoy's silver eyes before the blond turned away to speak to Blaise Zabini. He shook his head and returned his attention to Hermione, who was watching him closely. Again, he got the impression that she knew more than what she was saying and he hesitated before continuing. "Look, I'll tell you about it later. It wasn't a big deal, it's just a bit... curious, that's all." Ron nodded, accepting Harry's words instantly and returning to his sausage. Hermione nodded slowly, still watching him, but he avoided her gaze and fiddled with the note in his hands. He knew what it was. His living arrangements for the holidays.  
  
    _"Happy Christmas, Potter."_  
  
    Scowling, Harry shook his head as if to physically rid himself of the intrusive blond Slytherin and decisively opened the note.  
  
    _Harry,_ it read, _  
  
    As you are undoubtedly aware, Voldemort has become more active in the past weeks, and rumors of a deadly plot are traveling through all levels of society. Considering the timing of this unfortunate situation, I believe it would be most prudent if you limit your movements for the remainder of the school year. There are risks that simply must not be taken when they can be avoided. Please consider the option of staying here at Hogwarts for the holidays rather than returning to Headquarters. Arrangements will, of course, be made so that you may attend any relevant Order meetings. The choice, as always, is yours, and I will try to help and support your decision in any way that I possibly can. If there are any questions or concerns, you know where my office is.  
     
    Happy Christmas, _

_Albus Dumbledore.  
  
    _ "I'm staying here for the hols," Harry said as he folded the note and shoved it into his robes.  
  
    "Then we will, too. Won't we, Ron?" Hermione replied firmly, looking to their red-headed friend for agreement. He hesitated a bit, looking frustrated and torn.  
  
    "I dunno, mate," he said quietly, setting down his fork and not meeting Harry's eyes. "My mum... you know how she is, she worries about us all the time, and what with Percy not answering anyone's owls since Fudge got sacked and Dad getting attacked this time last year... She wanted all of us together for Christmas. I said yes 'cause I thought for sure that you would be able to come to Headquarters with us. Cor, mate, I'm sorry."  
  
    Harry's eyes dropped to the floor regretfully, but then he grasped his best friend by the shoulder and gave him a small lopsided smile. "It's alright, Ron, you'll only be gone for a couple of weeks. Besides, you haven't had any real time with your family since the beginning of summer; you all need some time together at Christmas. Tell your mum 'happy Christmas' for me, alright? The twins and everyone else, too." Ron nodded and cheered up a bit, clapping Harry on the shoulder and ignoring the instinctive flinch.  
  
    "I will. And who knows, we might be able to come visit you for a day or two." Harry nodded and grinned. Just then, Pig, who was always late to arrive with any mail he carried, crashed into the side of Ron's head and tumbled down to land in his potatoes. The tiny owl blinked its huge eyes and chirped before it stood and ruffled its feathers to remove the potatoes. Ron, rubbing his head and scowling, snatched up the bird and untied the letter tied to its ankle before setting it next to Harry's plate. Pig started nibbling at the extra bacon on the edge of Harry's plate that he always got for Hedwig when she visited him in the morning.  
  
    "Oh! It's from my parents," Hermione said, standing to snatch the letter from Ron's grasp. "I sent them a letter last week about staying at Headquarters this Christmas... Oh." The bushy-haired witch trailed off, her eyes moving rapidly down the page and her expression falling. She set the letter down hesitantly when she finished, looking up at Harry guiltily. "They want me to go home for Christmas. I haven't really spent much time with them since I came to the wizarding world, you know, even during the summers, and they want to see me again."  
  
    "Oh..." Harry murmured, looking down at his plate as guilt crashed through him. Of course Hermione hadn't seen her family during school. Ron hadn't either, because they kept getting into trouble with Harry or they felt like they needed to stay to help him through something. Even during the summers; Hermione always worried about him so much that she usually ended up staying at the Weasley's for days to see him, and this past summer she stayed at Grimmauld Place nearly the entire summer for training. Her family probably didn't know about that, and he wondered if she had even told them about Voldemort rising again or the impending war hovering over the wizarding world. _Why do I always cause problems for everybody?_  
  
    Above his head, Hermione and Ron shared an exasperated look. Just as Harry raised his head, his green eyes dark with guilt and turmoil behind his glasses, and he opened his mouth to apologize, the two raised their wands and slapped him with silencing charms. Harry blinked in surprise at the tingling in his throat that he associated with the silencing charm (Hermione had cast it often enough on him in class that he recognized the feel of it).  
  
    "Don't you dare say it, Harry James Potter," Hermione warned with a dangerous glint in her eye. "Don't you dare apologize. We've gone over this again and again! We're not forced to be your friends! We enjoy spending time with you and we want to help you whenever we can. We've spent our entire lives with our families, and sometimes there are just more important things than staying at home and eating turkey and ham!"  
  
    "Yeah, mate, you've gotta know by now that we'll tell you when we want time to ourselves. We know that you're not made of glass."  
  
    Harry stared at his loyal friends, a painful tingling at the backs of his eyes, and he smiled. They smiled back, and Harry ducked his head, blinking furiously. What had he done to deserve them? He had spent his entire life so used to being hated and ignored that it was sort of overwhelming to realize that they would give up spending time with their families - something that Harry had longed to have since he had been able to comprehend that his parents were dead - to spend it with him.  
  
    "All we need to know, Harry, is if there's a reason why we would need to stay with you here," Hermione said, deadly serious as she removed the charm. Ron nodded, his expression solemn. Harry thought of his research into Thestral poaching and his training in the Room of Requirement, his confusing encounters with Malfoy and his warring desire to be alone. He shook his head. Then he thought of the increasing feelings of anticipation and excitement coming from Voldemort and he shuddered.  
  
    "Just promise me one thing," he said. "Promise that you'll keep safe. Keep your wand on you at all times, no matter where you are; even in the shower, if you have to. You never know what's going to happen." Hermione nodded firmly. Ron looked confused at his vague warning, but nodded anyway and before they could respond, the Headmaster stood.  
  
    "Now that you've all been fed and watered, it's time for those of you planning to return home for the holidays to say goodbye and trot out to meet the carriages that will take you to the Hogwarts Express. We wish you all a wonderful Christmas and a safe journey."  
  
    Harry stood in the empty Entrance Hall after all of the students left, looking out across the empty, snowy grounds and recalling the Thestral that had been maimed and left for dead at the forest's edge. It had come for help from Hagrid, Harry was sure. He sighed and looked away. His scar was prickling again. It was becoming more and more frequent. He even caught flashes of visions, wisps of thought, and it alarmed him deeply. He felt so helpless; he knew _something_ was happening, but he didn't know what and he didn't even know where to begin to look to find out. _Some "Chosen One" I am,_ he snorted inwardly. Turning away, he slowly made his way back up to Gryffindor Tower in deep thought.

* * *

    Harry woke up to the sound of impatient tapping at his window. Rolling over, he pressed his stinging scar into the cool fabric of the pillow and groaned, "I'll be down in five minutes, Aunt Pet-" His eyes flew open halfway through his sentence, suddenly realizing that he was nowhere near Privet Drive and that it was Christmas morning. Just like every year, he had fallen asleep last night thinking about his bleak Christmas mornings before Hogwarts which - though he was never allowed to participate in the festivities - had always warranted a bit of celebration because it usually meant that Uncle Vernon would be far more lenient than he would be normally. It was one of the few times that Harry allowed himself to think of the Dursley's during the school year and he normally relied on Ron's enthusiastic awakening to rouse him from the subsequent nightmares or dreams about his treatment there.  
  
    The tapping at the window resumed, even more impatient than before. Harry bolted upright and shoved his hangings aside, letting out a laugh when he saw the owls crowded on the window ledge, alternately tapping at the window and ruffling their feathers to remove the snow that was piling up quickly. Harry opened the window, letting the indignant owls in to perch on the night table and the railing from which his curtains hung. He yanked open the bottom drawer of his night table and withdrew a bag of owl treats, which he passed out among the owls before conjuring some bowls and water for them.  
  
    "Alright, who's first?" Harry asked happily, inwardly marveling that he even had the opportunity to ask such a question. Hedwig flew down first with Hermione's reply to a letter he had sent her and her present tied to her legs. He quickly untied the package - which was about the size of the box containing the Sorcerer's Stone in his first year - from her leg and opened the letter, scanning it briefly.  
  
    _Dear Harry_ , it read,  
  
    _I really don't know what you're so worried about; you've never sent me a letter this soon after separating! But don't worry, Dumbledore made sure to send someone over and set up all sorts of protections around my parent's house. Yes, that includes the invisibility charms you mentioned, and yes, that includes a passworded Floo connection. Honestly, Harry, when have you become so paranoid? I doubt even Moody wouldn't have thought to set tripping jinxes for wizards at the doors... Is something the matter? How has your sleep been lately? Anyway, I've been enjoying the break with my parents and I've finally managed to catch up with them on some of the things that have been happening in the wizarding world. I haven't told them about how central you are to it because I don't want them to worry. Now - on to your present.  
  
    As you are well aware, dear Harry, you don't exactly have the best of luck when it comes to staying out of trouble. I know, I know, 'you don't go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds you', but nevertheless, you tend to find yourself in hot water more than once during the school year. My gift, Harry, is __**highly illegal**_ _, so I would appreciate it if you wouldn't go gabbing it around. Inside the box is a leather bracelet with three silver coins I've sewn into the band. Each coin is a Portkey that I made before the holidays. I would suggest you wear it at_ _ **all times**_ _, and if you need it, just say "Trouble found" while pressing your finger to the coin that will take you where you want to go._ _The coin on the left will take you to Hogwarts, the middle will take you to Headquarters, and the one of the right will take you straight to St. Mungo's (I hope you never have to use this one!). These were very difficult to create and match to your magical signature, Harry, so be sure to take care of it! Know that I care for you, Harry, and I'll always be by your side to support you, no matter what decisions you make in all aspects of your life.  
  
    With love, _

_Hermione.  
  
    _ After setting the parchment down, he slowly became aware of the fact that his mouth was open in astonishment. He couldn't believe that Hermione would do something so... _illegal_ for him. Not just one Portkey, but three! All of them to high-security places, as well. The amount of study and careful magic that must have gone into this was astounding. Harry numbly opened the box and attached the wide leather band to his thin left wrist, running his fingers absently over the runes carved into the thick silver coins embedded in the hide. Finally shaking off the overwhelming feeling of awe he had for his bushy-haired friend, he let a grin spread over his face and he set the letter aside before attacking his other presents.  
  
    Ron had also replied with a rambling letter about the start of the holidays before he launched into a warning about the irony of his own gift - a book he had had his father nick from the Ministry entailing the exploits and strategies of the most famous and successful Aurors since the Ministry was organized. It was a very thick book, but it had been charmed lightweight and it was very detailed and Harry knew instantly that this book would be moved to the top of his reading list. Ecstatic that his friends knew him so well, he moved on. Mrs. Weasley's expected lumpy package was eagerly torn open and he happily wriggled into his warm green sweater with a silver lightning bolt embroidered on the breast (a note from Ron fluttered out explaining that he had tried to make his mother change the colors but she had refused. Harry found that he didn't mind at all). Remus had given him a medium-sized telescope with pre-settings to the moon and the eight other planets of the solar system. The last pre-setting was to Sirius, the Dog Star.  
  
    Hagrid had sent him three, very realistic carvings of Norbert the baby Norwegian Ridgeback, Buckbeak, and a Thestral. Remembering the dead, glazing look in the blind eyes of the Thestral he had watched die, Harry set them aside with a shaking hand. Ginny, Neville, and Luna had given him small but unique gifts; an extra wand holster, a miniature night-blooming jasmine to set by his windowsill, and a set of miscellaneous keys that were supposed to attract the good luck of the Jugwagglers when he jangled them. Near the end of the pile, Harry was surprised and perplexed when he found that even members of the Order had sent him presents. Moody sent him a pocket Foe Glass, Tonks sent a fun guidebook to Metamorphmagi that changed colors every three seconds, the Twins sent samples of their products, and it seemed that several of the members had pitched in pictures of Harry's parents. Harry stared at the pictures of the happy couple, feeling a sharp pang of half-remembered loss.   
  
    Harry was startled when Hedwig abruptly hooted and took off through the window, cuffing him lightly around the head as if reminding him of something. Rubbing the side of his head and feeling decidedly foolish, he realized that he was about to miss breakfast in the Great Hall if he still wanted to take a shower. He hastily disrobed before entering the empty bathroom and showering quickly. Without even bothering with his school robes, he tugged on a pair of loose stone-washed jeans that were just beginning to fit him (he had received them when he was ten years old and he was glad that he now had a proper belt to help keep them around his hips) and a white t-shirt before pulling Mrs. Weasley's sweater - which was quickly becoming his favorite one - over his head.  
  
     Harry thumped down the stairs and managed to skid into the Great Hall just before breakfast was about to begin. Thanks to his training he was not panting, but his face was flushed slightly from exertion and embarrassment as he slipped into the empty seat beside Remus and grinned when the kind werewolf reached out to tousle his still-wet hair, which was starting to curl jauntily at the edges as a precursor to its inevitable messiness.  
  
    Breakfast passed with good cheer and it seemed to set the tone for the rest of the day, which Harry happily spent with Remus in his office, doing minor tasks as they talked lightly with one another, sometimes slipping into discussions about Defense or magical theory and other times reminiscing on past years. The subject of Sirius was not broached, though Harry was sure that the impulsive animagus crossed their minds more than once as they reflected on the previous Christmas at Grimmauld Place. Mainly, they caught up with each other since they had not had much time to spend together during the school year.  
  
    Eventually, they took their conversation outside to walk around the lake. Their attention was quickly diverted, however, when Harry casually scooped up a ball of snow and chucked it at the back of Remus' head when he wasn't looking. The resulting snowball fight took up several hours and progressed to a mock duel when both proved to be excellent at dodging. As they skirted around bushes, hid behind trees, and rolled into the snow, they lost track of time. All too soon, it seemed, their thoroughly soaked clothing and rumbling stomachs indicated that they had missed lunch and it was time to return to the warmth of the castle. In Remus' private quarters, they dried themselves with a charm and curled up in armchairs beside the crackling fireplace, talking quietly as they played chess and nibbled on the snacks they had had Dobby bring up to them.  
  
    For Harry, the day was perfect. He was beginning to see Remus as more than a friendly professor, more than his parent's friend; he was becoming something of a father figure or uncle, and a friend besides. Harry had been devastated and lost after Sirius' death, certain that he was alone; that there were no other adult figures left to die for him. However, almost as soon as he had stepped foot into Grimmauld Place after another horrific summer, Remus had stepped forward, insistent even though he too was clearly grieving, and did not fail him. He had always been kind, consistent, and truthful to Harry, and the slender boy was just realizing how much that meant to him. Deep in his heart, he always, always feared that that affection would disappear; that perhaps one day Remus would realize that he wanted a life of his own, without a burdensome brat to look after, and Remus would leave him. Either that, or Remus would die. That fear never left Harry, not for a moment, and so his relationship with the man always seemed to be tinged with the desperate desire to enjoy what happiness he could while it was willingly available.  


    They were interrupted by Dobby popping into the room - wearing the miniature scarf Harry had given him that was charmed to change colors every hour - to announce that dinner would be served in half an hour's time. Deciding to go down early, they strolled companionably through the empty halls, greeting Nearly Headless Nick as he floated by.  
  
    "I never thanked you for the present," Harry said quietly with a small, shy smile that warmed Remus' heart. "I've always loved looking at the stars at night... even after Sirius... died. It's almost a comfort to find his star sometimes. Like he's watching over me, you know?"  
  
    "Yes, I understand. It's much the same for me. Thank you for the new cloak and gloves. They will be especially helpful this winter."  
  
    "I had hoped so."  
  
    They lapsed into a comfortable silence. As they entered the Great Hall, Harry looked up and smiled at the extensive decorations as he did every time he entered the room. The gigantic trees, festive drapes, and glistening garlands never failed to raise his spirits. The other teachers were just arriving at the table, chatting with one another as they sat. There were several professors that Harry had only been introduced to in passing, such as Professor Vector or Sinastra or any of the others that taught subjects he hadn't taken. On the other hand, Trelawney was nowhere to be seen, which Harry couldn't help but feel fiercely glad for. He wanted to minimize the chances of being warned of impending death and disaster - or worse, a true prophecy - by avoiding the woman as much as possible. Harry slid next to Remus again, barely restraining a flinch when the werewolf reached over to squeeze his shoulder firmly.  
  
    From down the long table, Snape sneered at the affectionate gesture. Harry just smiled brightly at the dour Potions Professor and wished him a happy Christmas, which made the man snort in disgust. Harry rolled his eyes inwardly at the predictable behavior - really, he was starting to get used to Snape's disposition by now. He had discovered that the best ways to deal with the man were simply to ignore his rude comments or to respond cheerfully. Unbeknownst to him, he was imitating Remus' style of calm - with a Slytherin twist when he happened to be alone with Snape long enough to engage in a battle of wits.  
  
    On this cheerful Christmas, however, he was pleased to note that Snape ignored everyone at this point and he served himself a small portion of the meal, content for now to just listen and soak in the warm atmosphere. Christmas at Hogwarts was always something he cherished, even if it was sort of odd at first seeing his teachers so relaxed, and he hoarded the memories for reflection during lonely nights and painful times during the summer. The only students present besides Harry were a couple of Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw that Harry didn't recognize. Dumbledore was chatting happily with Professor Sprout about Neville's independent project (nurturing an unhealthy Sympathy plant back to health), Vector and Flitwick were discussing magical theory quietly, and McGonagall, Remus, and two other professors Harry didn't recognize were talking about the war.  
  
    "...It's to the point that I'm even considering putting the Fidelius Charm on my home," a woman with sharp features and short black hair was saying mournfully. "Can you believe that? I had hoped that I would never have to contemplate such a drastic action, but I have a family to think of! It's frightful, all of it."  
  
    "Of course, we all should do whatever we can to remain safe, Bathsheda," the graying woman next to her - Professor Sinastra - said comfortingly. "I know that the Death Eaters seem to be quiet lately, but I heard just the other day about another werewolf attack near Wiltshire. Three muggle children turned, just like that." Harry felt Remus stiffen beside him and he turned to see the kind man staring stonily at his napkin. Harry's eyes widened fractionally when he remembered that Remus had been bitten by Fenrir Greyback, a werewolf notorious for his delight in turning small children, when he was a child. Wordlessly, but slightly hesitant, Harry reached out and touched his professor's forearm, which made Remus start in surprise and give the younger wizard a reassuring smile. Harry didn't buy it for a second.  
  
    "Doubtless it was that vagabond Greyback," McGonagall said. "Providing a distraction while He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named plans for even greater havoc." Remus nodded as if in agreement, but Harry found himself speaking before he even thought about it.  
  
    "I wouldn't be so sure of that." He blinked and closed his mouth abruptly when they turned to him in surprise, realizing what he had said. He blushed and looked back down at his plate, shoveling some potatoes into his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. _What did I do that for?_ He thought, mortified. _Maybe they'll just ignore it._ "Er... sorry."  
  
    "Don't apologize, Potter, explain yourself. What do you mean?" McGonagall said sharply. Harry winced, reminded of Aunt Petunia, and glanced hesitantly at Remus who nodded reassuringly, looking interested in what he had to say. Almost as if what he said mattered. Like an... equal. The thought gave him a boost of confidence and he straightened.  
  
    "Well... I wouldn't say that Greyback was acting under orders - he rarely responds well to being dominated or ordered around like a common lackey," Harry said, his gaze becoming thoughtful as he stared out over McGonagall's shoulder. He rarely thought about most of his visions, but despite that, he knew that impressions and understanding about Death Eater hierarchy were left with each one and sometimes it was helpful to know who's who in Voldemort's domain. "What you need to understand about Greyback is that he embraces his lycanthropy so thoroughly that he takes it to the next level - intentionally infecting others to strengthen his 'pack', and enjoying doing so. He enjoys it so much, in fact, that he tends to ignore Voldemort's," he ignored their shudders, "anger when he disobeys. Unfortunately for everyone, Greyback and his pack are sort of a wild card, even for Voldemort."  
  
     The black-haired woman (whom Harry now recognized as Professor Babbling of Ancient Runes) and Professor Sinastra were staring at him in complete shock while McGonagall was frowning. Remus, however, nodded thoughtfully, looking at Harry with a new degree of respect. It made Harry uncomfortable. He was still just a student, after all.  
  
    "Yes, I can see that now," he said. "They both have domineering personalities, and I can't imagine either one submitting to the other willingly."  
  
    "They are uneasy allies," Harry agreed. "Especially since Voldemort really doesn't want any more werewolves around while he has so little control over them. Voldemort's desires line up with Greyback's most of the time, but Greyback also has a pack that he needs to protect and lead, and he can't look weak in front of them. That's why it rankles him to much when Voldemort punishes him."  
  
    "But he still does it?" Sinastra said hesitantly.  
  
    "Of course. He thinks he's being subtle, but in case you haven't noticed, a lot of these children that are being bitten end up dying from mysterious circumstances a few weeks later. Voldemort does not want to give Greyback that much power." Harry hear a sharp intake of breath and he saw that Remus had paled dramatically

Thinking back over what he said, he winced at his tactlessness. "Oh Merlin, Remus, I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say... I didn't want to sound-"  
  
    "Don't worry, it's alright, cub," Remus interrupted, smiling warmly despite the lingering pain in his eyes. "It's the truth, after all." Despite his reassurance, Harry lowered his eyes to his plate, beginning to withdraw back into himself and away from the conversation. He was startled out of his sadness, however, when Dumbledore abruptly clapped and cried "Dessert!" Instantly, their dinner plates disappeared and desserts of all kinds spread across the table and conversations turned to lighter topics. Professor Flitwick, seated on Harry's right, engaged the black-haired boy in a conversation about his days as a dueling champion. Despite himself, Harry laughed at his descriptions of the ways his opponents underestimated him because of his size.  
  
    "As tall as an oak, he was, and nearly as broad," the diminutive professor squeaked with satisfaction. "Fortunately, he was just about as smart as one, too. He just stood there in the middle of the dueling platform for the entire duel shooting spells at me. He didn't even attempt to dodge! One simple _Protego_ and he was gone!"  
  
    Harry laughed. "How did a shield charm knock him out?"  
  
    "Ah, now there is a helpful dueling technique," Flitwick said conspiratorially, "a bit Slytherin if I do say so, but very helpful nonetheless in tight spots. Simply cast _Protego_ in the middle of a heated duel when there are no spells to defend against. The opponent is usually confused as to why you're casting a defensive spell when they hadn't even attacked you yet, giving you an opportunity to hex them all the way to next Tuesday." Harry's eyes lit up with delight at learning new attack techniques and he spent the rest of dessert drilling the knowledgeable professor about every little trick he knew. Flitwick seemed surprised and delighted to have found such an eager and quick student in Harry when he had never shown so much interest in his Charms class before. Within only a short amount of time, the small wizard could tell that the Boy-Who-Lived was well versed in several defensive techniques and vague spells and had a solid understanding of battle tactics. Considering the age and misleading stature of the young wizard, Flitwick was impressed and amused to have found a student that reminded him so much of himself as a child.  
  
    Eventually, they were interrupted by Dumbledore insisting that everyone pull crackers with their neighbor. Remus and Harry pulled one and, after a loud crack, found themselves with a lap full of squirming ferrets, which made Harry laugh as he remembered Malfoy's brief stint as the wily rodent. With a sour expression, Snape pulled a cracker with Professor Sprout and a ball of hot pink robes with canary yellow star bursts on them shot into his face, enveloping his head as his growled in disgust. Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick ended up with a matching pair of large muggle sunglasses that had rhinestones on the sides that constantly changed color. Harry, having not been able to give the kind Headmaster his gift yet, unobtrusively levitated the small parcel above the heads of the table's occupants until it descended in front of Dumbledore, who plucked it out of the air with bushy eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
    He glanced down the table and Harry grinned at the old wizard with a small wave. An affectionate smile crossed Dumbledore's face and his eyes twinkled fiercely as he unwrapped the gift. He soon found himself with a pair of thick woolen periwinkle blue socks and his smile grew until he let out a laugh. Not the normal warm chuckles that he was known for, but hearty laughter that came straight from the soul, and most of the table's occupants paused their conversations to stare at the old wizard laughing joyfully with a pair of socks. Harry blushed a little and returned to his conversation with Flitwick, his heart swelling with pleased surprise that the Headmaster had enjoyed his gift so much. He hadn't been sure that the powerful wizard would remember their fateful encounter in the dark of night during his first year, when he had taught Harry one of the most valuable lessons he had ever learned and still put into practice today: It does no good to dwell on unattainable dreams or yearn for the past; he could only move forward.  
  
    If Harry had continued watching, he would have seen Dumbledore pick up the note inside the wrapping and read it. Afterwards, he smiled warmly, running a quick finger under his half-moon glasses to flick away a tear that had gathered there.  
     
    _Albus,  
  
    Of all of the gifts that you have given me over the years, both literal and figurative, I know that a simple pair of socks could never repay the gratitude I feel, regardless what you may have told an orphaned eleven-year-old boy. Nevertheless I hope that you will think of me when you wear them and know that I care for you like a grandfather. A meddlesome, secretive grandfather, but a grandfather all the same.  
  
    Happy Christmas, _

_Harry._  
  
    To top off the already perfect day, Harry walked back to Gryffindor Tower with Remus only to discover the entire Weasley family (sans Percy) laying in wait in the common room. Ron and Hermione pounced on him before he could do nothing more than gape in shock just inside the doorway and he forgot to flinch when they wrapped him up in a tight hug, exclaiming about how much they missed him. Eventually, when the chaos died down, Harry learned that the Weasley's had indeed gained permission to visit Harry for Christmas as they had promised. What followed was a long night of warm conversation, laughter, and warm butterbeer the likes of which Harry had rarely experienced in his life. There was no talk of the war that was looming ever closer.  
  
    Late that night, after the Weasley's left, Harry settled on the windowsill of his dorm room, stroking Hedwig softly as he stared out over the silent grounds. The moon was shining brightly, casting a pale glow that illuminated the gnarled edges of the Forbidden Forest and reflected off the surface of the lake, which was as still as glass. He wasn't planning on sleeping. By this point, he knew Voldemort well enough to guess that the sadistic monster would most likely drag him into a vision as his twisted version of a gift for the Boy-Who-Lived. Although he knew he might pay for it later, Harry refused to raise to the bait tonight. He wasn't going to have his holiday ruined by Voldemort's skewed sense of humor. For just a while, if only for a few hours, Harry would pretend as if it had been a completely normal Christmas.  
  
    As he had suspected, Voldemort paid him a visit the next night with a vision so horrifying and macabre that Harry had continued to suffer from the effects long after it had ended. Burning with a fever and shaking continually from the effects of the Cruciatus, he confined himself to his enclosed bed and refused to leave his room. After he had missed lunch and Remus mentioned that he hadn't seen Harry all day, a concerned Dumbledore sent Dobby up to make sure he was alright, only for the loyal house elf to return wringing his ears and wailing that Harry Potter was very ill and wouldn't respond when he tried to wake him up. Instantly, Snape stood from his chair and swept away to Gryffindor Tower before anyone else, which startled the professors so much that they hadn't noticed when Remus leapt to his feet and tore after the man, his eyes tinted with gold as his inner wolf sensed that his cub was hurt. McGonagall and Dumbledore followed quickly after.  
  
    The Fat Lady opened immediately upon their approach, shrilling: "It's about time! He was screaming up there all night!" Their urgency increased and they hissed curses at each other as they navigated the narrow stairway up to the sixth year's dormitory. Bursting into the room, they paused barely long enough to cover their noses from the stench of vomit before they strode to Harry's bed. The slender Gryffindor looked ghastly. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his skin was pale, and sweat dampened his skin, plastering his wild locks to his forehead. The curse scar blazed red and angry. Remus immediately began smoothing the hair away from his cub's face, stroking his head comfortingly. Both men barely noticed when their two colleagues entered the room. McGonagall gasped in shock and Dumbledore shook his head sadly before he waved his wand, cleaning up the mess on the side of Harry's bed and freshening up the room considerably.  
  
    "Damn," Snape cursed under his breath when he reached for Harry's wrist and saw that his limbs were constantly twitching and shivering, the muscles quivering spasmodically. "He has symptoms of Cruciatus, but his pulse is strong and steady. He has a severe fever and is on the edge of dehydration. He is in no immediate danger, but the sooner we move him to the Hospital Wing, the better."  
  
    "I'll carry him," Lupin volunteered instantly and Snape's lip curled back in a sneer. He motioned to him irritably.  
  
    "Of course you will, wolf, did you expect _me_ to carry the brat? Carefully, then, but maintain a firm grip as he does not have full control over his limbs at the moment."

    Lupin followed Snape's orders quickly and efficiently, any previous dislike between them dulled and forgotten as they worked together for the benefit of the frail-looking child cradled in the werewolf's strong arms. Harry's head rolled against Lupin's chest as they climbed down the stairs, but his body was as tense as a bowstring, even in unconsciousness. They reached the Infirmary in record time. Lupin rushed forward with his frail cargo and called for Pomfrey as he laid the boy gently on the bed. Snape hung back by the doors, the cold emotionless expression on his face hiding any concern he might have had for the Boy-Who-Lived. When the medi-witch appeared and began fussing over the boy, Snape slipped away unnoticed, contemplating his research on the development of a potion that could shield a mind from all outward sources.  
  
    There was no doubt that Occlumency was not enough to shield Potter's mind, just as he had suspected, and he decided that his research needed to become his first priority.

* * *

    Harry woke to the familiar darkness and clean smell of the Hospital Wing. Laying still and trying to remember what dangerous event had occurred to land him back in Madame Pomfrey's clutches, the green-eyed boy could come up with nothing but blurs and foggy memories of being too hot and his throat hurting like the dickens. It hurt now, come to think of it. He remembered the vision, too, with the same damnable clarity as he always had, but any specific details of what had happened after he had woken were lost to him. Giving it up as a lost cause, he turned his head slightly and smiled when he saw a slumped form with greying brown hair in the chair next to his bed. This, too, was a familiar sight, and his heart warmed with affection.  
  
    He took a deep breath to let out a sigh, but quickly discovered that that was not a good idea as it triggered a harsh coughing fit that made his throat and eyes burn. When he finally managed to control his coughing, he found that he was hunched over and his limbs were shaking with fatigue. His head pounded. As he recovered, he slowly became aware of a large, warm hand gently rubbing circles into his back and a soft voice whispering comforting words. Remus. Harry closed his eyes and submerged himself in the warmth and the feelings of reassurance and belonging he felt. He soon fell asleep there, despite himself, and he had no recollection of Remus easing him back onto his pillow and pressing a kiss to his brow before settling back in his chair to watch over his cub for the rest of the night.  
  
    As it turned out, Harry was only confined to his bed for the entirety of the next day. With plenty of dreamless sleep and post-Cruciatus potions, his tremors were reduced enough for Madame Pomfrey to declare him well enough to leave. Faint shivers wracked his hands from time to time, but he knew that they, too, would soon pass and he made his way to Remus' classroom in light spirits. He even managed to thank Snape for his potions when he passed the Potions Master in the halls despite receiving nothing but a low grunt in return. It seemed as though everything had gone back to normal in the wake of the disastrous vision (Remus scolded him soundly for not informing anyone and hiding out in his room), but as always, nothing in Harry Potter's life ever remained normal for long.  
  
    Two days before New Year's, Remus announced that he was returning to Grimmauld Place for the remainder of the holiday, both to barricade himself in the empty house for the full moon and to continue working on making the house livable. Sirius had left Remus and Harry joint ownership of the ancestral home and they had both been slowly renovating it to make it something resembling a pleasant place to live. After all, Remus was still too poor to find a place on his own and he would have to live there for quite some time. Harry sympathized with him; he wasn't sure if he could ever live in Sirius' house for much longer than a summer. So it was with a heavy heart that Harry watched his friend leave and he promised to write the man as often as possible. The young wizard spent the rest of the afternoon immersed in several books in the library even though he had already completed his homework; he was researching vague spells that might help him in his fight against Voldemort. He knew that the final battle would most likely not come down to a duel; Voldemort had over fifty years of experience and learning on Harry and there was simply no way that the young wizard could defeat him in a duel of spells. That left him searching for other alternatives.  
  
    He was pulled away from his research by Dobby, who had appointed himself Harry Potter's personal "meal enforcer" ever since his vision so that the elf could seek Harry out and drag him to the table to eat. Frankly, Harry found it just a tad bit annoying, but he took care never to complain to his little elf friend. Snape was absent for the meal, as he often was, but Harry paused his conversation with Flitwick near the end of the meal to note that Snape had entered the Great Hall through a side door and had slipped next to Dumbledore's side. He whispered a few words into the aged wizard's ear, Dumbledore nodded in return, and the Potions Master glided away quickly, ignoring everyone else in the room. Dumbledore stood a few mintutes later, clapping his hands once for attention.  
  
    "Before we partake of our delicious dessert, I would like to make an announcement: Professor Snape has just informed me that one Draco Malfoy has returned early and will spend the rest of his holiday here with us. If you will recall from reading this morning's paper, his mother Narcissa Malfoy went missing yesterday, so if you would please leave him to his own devices for the remainder of the break, it would be much appreciated. Thank you." He sat down again and Harry absently poked his fork into a slice of apple pie that appeared before him. He had indeed read over the story that morning, had even felt a strange pang of something that could be sympathy for the blond, but he hadn't thought that Malfoy would come back to Hogwarts early because of it. _It doesn't matter,_ Harry tried to convince himself, watching his hand tremble absently before he set down his fork, _No doubt he'll just hide away in the dungeons for the rest of the break. Then he'll be back in class and be the git he always has been. Maybe then I'll remember not to feel sorry for the jerk._  
  
    And indeed, Harry managed to forget that the blond had even returned to Hogwarts because he never saw Malfoy during the day. He didn't appear to meals and he didn't venture into the library, so it was with no small amount of surprise that Harry found himself face to face with the Slytherin the night before New Year's Day.  
  
    Visions from Voldemort had been conspicuously absent ever since the night after Christmas, but despite this, Harry found that he often couldn't fall asleep immediately when he laid down at night. Voldemort's emotions were close to the surface all the time now, and the mingled sense of anticipation and impatience were nearly overwhelming at times. He had taken to wandering the halls until he felt tired enough to try to sleep, normally without his invisibility cloak because there wasn't really a curfew during the holidays. This particular night, he was striding through the halls restlessly in a worn pair of pajama bottoms and his Weasley sweater over an old t-shirt to ward off the cold. He watched countless stones pass under his feet, not really watching where he was going, as he wracked his brains for any reason at all for Voldemort's rising excitement. He scoured his memories of previous visions but couldn't find any hint of his plans.  
  
    Harry stopped abruptly when a spike of pain shot through his scar, accompanied by a surge of dark elation. Hissing in frustration, Harry pressed a hand to his scar and leaned against the door of an empty room, the fingers of his other hand gripping the worn stone next to the wood like a lifeline.

    "Damn you, Voldemort, what are you up to?" He muttered harshly into the silent halls. He received no reply.  
  
    "Talking to yourself, Potter? That's a sign of insanity, you know."  
  
    Harry jerked away from the wall in surprise, his wand automatically in his hand and a curse on his lips, but he paused when he saw Malfoy leaning casually against the wall a few meters away, arms crossed and unarmed, with a faint smirk playing about his lips.

 

"Malfoy?" Harry said incredulously, taking in the other boy's appearance. Malfoy had changed drastically over the few days that he had been gone. His clothes - his usual ensemble of black slacks and a black sweater - hung off of his drastically thin body and his normally perfect silvery-blond hair was mussed and dull. His lips were chapped and pale where they had been full and pink for as long as Harry could remember. Dark bags ringed his eyes, which were hard and shielded though practically screaming with hidden pain. His posture spoke of desperation and defensiveness.  
  
    "What happened to you, Malfoy?" Harry whispered, stunned. Malfoy's face hardened.  
  
    "Why do _you_ care, _Potter_? Looking for some charity case to fawn over?"  
  
    "What? No, I- I just-" Harry began, feeling inexplicably hurt.  
  
    "Well mind your own business, Potter! I don't need you or your pity!" Malfoy spat.  
  
    "What the heck, Malfoy? Why are you being such a prat?" Harry snapped, confused. Sure, it wasn't like they were friends or anything, but Harry had felt like they had understood each other at least a little bit when they had flown together before the break. He thought that warranted a little bit of civility between them, but apparently he was wrong.  
  
    "What did you think, Potter? That I had _changed_ , that I'm _good_ now?" He snorted. "What a joke. I'm a Malfoy, and Malfoy's don't change."  
  
    Harry felt a flash of anger rise up at these sneered words, but a strange glint in the blond's eyes made him pause before he opened his mouth to retort. _Could it be..?_ Using the faintest brushes of Legilimency, he touched Malfoy's mind gently. He only had to look for a brief moment before he withdrew, his anger vanishing.  
  
    "You're lying," he said calmly. His green eyes, almost glowing in the pale moonlight from the slitted window, met Malfoy's cold grey eyes, piercing and sympathetic and _knowing._ Malfoy's face abruptly twisted into an expression of hatred and fear and frustration as he lunged forward, slamming an unsuspecting Harry into the wall. Harry's breath was crushed from him in a gasp and he felt the edge of the stone doorway dig deeply between his shoulder blades. He winced in pain and was unable to prevent the small strangled sound that left his throat. Malfoy pressed forward ruthlessly, teeth bared in a ferocious hiss.  
  
    "What do you know about it, Potter?! You don't know anything! You have no idea who I am or what I've been through, so don't you _dare_ presume to _understand_ me." Silence fell in the empty corridor as they stared at each other, panting with emotion and pain, eyes locked in a fierce battle. Harry searched those carefully shuttered grey eyes, but before he could respond, a cold voice snapped through the air like a whip.  
  
    "Potter! Draco!" Snape strode quickly toward them, black cloak billowing ominously behind him and his sallow face pale with fury. "What is Merlin's name is going on here?" He hissed, his black eyes whipping quickly from one boy to the other. With a final shove, Malfoy pushed off of Harry and stepped away, brushing imaginary lint off of his impeccable clothing and sneering.  
  
    "Nothing, godfather," he drawled. "I was just setting Potter straight on a few things. Why? Concerned that I'll corrupt the Golden Boy of Gryffindor?"  
  
    Much to the blonde's surprise, Snape descended on both of them like an eagle swooping down on a helpless rat, snatching the backs of both of their sweaters in a vice-like grip and dragging them down the hall. "I've had enough of this puerile behavior from both of you! I _will not_ stand to deal with it during the holidays as well as the school year! You will both be scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of your lives until you come to a solution that will keep both of you out of my sight!" With that, he threw open the door to the Potions classroom and shoved them inside, ignoring their indignant cries.  
  
    "But Professor-!"  
  
    "Uncle Sev-!"  
  
    "Silence!" He snarled, slamming the door shut behind him and pointing at a huge stack of filthy cauldrons beside the sinks. "You will both scrub - in silence and without magic! - until such a time as I decide that you are finished. At that time, I will expect the two of you to have come to a mature decision; if such a thing is possible for your puny brains to accomplish. Now, get to work!" He stalked away to his desk while the two boys stood frozen at the sudden turn of events. Harry recovered first and removed his sweater with a sigh, draping it over the back of a chair before glancing over at Malfoy and moving to the left sink closest to the door. The Slytherin seemed to be frozen with a mixture of anger, bewilderment, and shock. Harry doubted that he had ever scrubbed _anything_ before, much less did so as a punishment by his normally lenient godfather.  
  
    It _was_ slightly odd, Harry decided as he rolled up the enormous sleeves of Dudley's cast off shirt with practiced ease and filled the sink with soapy water. Snape was definitely more acerbic than usual and the strange fixation on forcing Harry and Draco to make peace in his presence was certainly different. _Perhaps he's just bitter because it's the New Year and he doesn't have anyone to spend it with,_ Harry mused. _Though I don't know why he should take it out on us; it's not like either of us have anyone to celebrate with, either.  
  
_     He glanced over at Malfoy, who seemed to have gotten over his consternation and had settled at the sink next to him with a stony expression of indifference. Harry wondered at the violent desperation he instinctively sensed in the blond as well. Something had happened over the few days that Malfoy had been at his family manor that had changed the Slytherin even more than before. Something that had forced him to return to Hogwarts early with a short temper and haunted eyes. He tried to hide it, of course, but Harry, more than anyone, could recognize the subtle signs of traumatic experiences. He saw the same things in himself each day in the mirror.  


* * *

  
    For several hours, the two worked in perfect silence. The dull pain in Harry's back sharpened gradually as time passed until it throbbed and stabbed every time he bent or lifted, but he hid it with the ease of long practice. By the end of three hours, Harry's stack of gleaming cauldrons was perceptively higher than Malfoy's subpar stack, but he was also blinking sweat out of his eyes from the strain of lifting the heavy metal and scraping out the interior. It was just after midnight when it happened.  
  
    From the front of the classroom, Snape dropped his quill with a hiss and grasped his arm tightly. Simultaneously, Harry dropped the brush he was scrubbing with into the sink, the sudden clatter followed soon after with a groan of pain. Startled, Malfoy glanced up with a sneer, but his expression changed to shock when he saw the Boy-Who-Lived clutching his head and backing away from the sink, his eyes screwed shut in agony.  
  
    "P-Potter?" He stammered, but Harry didn't respond. He quickly turned to Snape for help, but saw that he too was in too much pain to be of help. Draco dropped his own brush and scrambled to his godfather's personal potions store and hurriedly pawed through the vials in there, cursing when one tumbled from the shelf and shattered on the ground. Finding a strong pain reliever, he ran back to Snape's desk and shoved it into the man's hands. Snape downed it in one go and gasped in relief as the pain abated somewhat. He opened his coal black eyes, sharply taking in Draco's pale face and frightened eyes before moving to Harry's hunched form and widening in realization. Faster than lightning, he was out of his chair and across the room, grasping Harry's elbows in an iron-tight grip and forcing his hands away from his face. Draco felt his breath freeze in his lungs.  
  
    Harry's eyes were glowing. He stared sightlessly ahead of him, his mouth moving soundlessly as his hands began shaking and his scar split open. Blood flowed steadily from the wound, making a red trail between his luminescent green eyes and down the side of his nose and cheek. A low humming was filling the room and the air felt almost charged with magical power, like the air before a lightning strike. Draco felt as if all the hair on his body was standing on end. Snape cursed, looking more panicked than Draco had ever seen him, and he rummaged in the pocket of his robes before withdrawing a vial and yanking Harry's head back by his hair. He emptied the vial in the boy's mouth and held it shut as he ran his fingers up and down that pale column of throat until Harry's muscles automatically began swallowing. Snape relaxed his hold on the boy's hair, which proved to be a mistake as Harry yanked his head out of Snape's grasp and stumbled backwards, crashing into a table.  
  
    The black-haired boy clutched his head again, his fingernails digging into his scalp, and began muttering again. The air thickened with power as the words became audible.  
  
    "...Sedora non cumplas remaine suveldas guntelk ne timpora nos kura nubreaintor supra saine..." The language was unrecognizable to both wizards, but neither could deny the dark power within them. Suddenly, Harry stiffened and an agonized cry was torn from his throat. His eyes opened once more, shifting violently from his normal brilliant green to the unearthly glowing color as they fixed on Snape with desperate lucidity.

"P-Professor..." he ground out, as if it was the hardest thing he had ever done. "V-Voldemort... ritual... Infinitas Vox... t-too late-" Suddenly, there was another pulse of power that blew through the room like a whirlwind - knocking over chairs, scattering papers, and pushing the other two wizards away violently - and Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as he fainted, his body crumpling to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.  
  
    Snape recovered quicker than Draco, running to the fireplace and tossing a handful of floo powder into the fire. Before he could shout a destination, however, the door burst open. Dumbledore stood framed in the doorway, no longer the gentle grandfather he usually appeared to be, and Draco suddenly understood how the old man could have been the one that defeated another Dark Lord in his own time. The Headmaster's shrewd gaze swept through the room, finally settling on Harry. Everything suddenly seemed to jump into fast motion for Draco, and even days later he couldn't remember much of what happened afterwards. There was a blur of movement, a stern voice ordering him to the Hospital Wing, a flurry of activity surrounding another bed that held the frail form of Harry Potter, and finally, some garbled words and a vial being pressed to his lips. Exhausted and overloaded, he drank it without question and soon sank into a welcome darkness.

* * *

    He was floating in darkness. It surrounded him in soft, warm, undulating waves, and he was not afraid. Occasional flickers of memory, fragments of thought, or glimpses of emotions stole across his awareness, but he was only momentarily interested in what they represented. Memories of a small, black-headed boy with vivid green eyes were the most common, but memories involving another black haired boy with cruel eyes occurred nearly as often. Images of a tall, skeletal figure with red eyes were often tied with those of the cruel boy. But they didn't matter. He was comfortable where he was, cradled in the soft velvet of darkness. He had no knowledge of who he was, or even what he was. He simply... existed.  
  
    He didn't know how long he drifted there, vaguely glancing at faint memories as they flitted past, but he didn't care. Time had neither place nor meaning here. Eventually, he became interested to note that there was another presence approaching him. He thought he had been alone in this vastness. The presence drew closer and closer, until he could see their shape clearly. He immediately recognized the figure as the tall, red-eyed creature in the memories, and his interest increased.  
  
    "Hello," he said politely, when the presence drifted to a stop some distance away. The red eyes pinned on him with cruel triumph and amusement.  
  
    "Hello," he purred in return, smirking.  
  
    "How long have you been here?"  
  
    "About as long as you, I would wager."  
  
    "I see." Silence.  
     
    "Do you know who I am, boy?"  
  
    He flinched at the name for some unknown reason. "No, I don't. I recognize your face, but I don't know who you are. Who are you? Do you know who I am?"  
  
    "I am Lord Voldemort, boy, the most powerful wizard on the Earth. And you... you are Harry Potter."  
  
    "Voldemort," he repeated, distracted by the rush of images that flitted past him at the name. "Harry Potter." Even more images this time, more familiar in a way that he couldn't quite define.  
  
    "Yesss, boy, you are Harry Potter. You should be grateful for the gift I am giving you. While I would infinitely prefer to leave you to waste away in this empty pit you call a mind, I find that I cannot return to consciousness without waking your pitiful mind."  
     
    "I am... Harry Potter?" Suddenly, the memories seemed to trickle into his mind instead of rushing past him, filling him with images, thoughts, and feelings until he thought he would explode. Fear, pain, anger, hatred, despair, jealousy burned through his heart like a fire brand and he curled in on himself in the darkness. Almost immediately afterwards, however, joy, acceptance, enjoyment, contentedness, affection, _love_ filled him, soothed him like a cool balm on a raw wound. The opposing feelings roiled within him restlessly, fighting for dominance, until they eventually settled into a balance. Slowly, slowly, he uncurled until he floated upright, facing the smirking presence once more.  
  
    "Tom," he said evenly.  
  
    "Ah, Harry, so nice to see you fully cognizant once more," Voldemort hissed. The presence of Harry Potter narrowed his eyes.  
  
    "What are you doing here, Tom? What have you done?"  
  
    "Ah, that is the question, isn't it?" He drifted closer, but Harry stood his ground. "I have ensured my victory for this war. Tell me, Harry, have you ever heard of Infinitas Vox?" Harry's eyes widened as his most recent memories surfaced. The ritual. The Death Eaters. The light. The _power_. "I see that you do indeed remember." The snake-like man stroked his jaw thoughtfully. "How strange our connection is, Harry Potter. Even with my now-unbeatable power, I cannot fully close you from my mind."  
  
    "Just as I can't fully close you from mine," Harry retorted.  
  
    "Yes, but that is hardly of any use to me, now is it? After all, what information of any possible interest could be found in the mind of a sixteen-year old boy? No, you are merely an irritable thorn in my side, Potter, one that is hardly any threat to me now." Harry didn't respond immediately. If Voldemort was willing to underestimate him, then Harry was not about to change his mind.  
  
    "I may not be a threat to you, Riddle, but Dumbledore still is. You _will_ be defeated some day, and I won't rest until I see it!" Quickly growing tired of the banter, and somewhat nervous about Voldemort's continued presence in his mind, Harry quickly constructed a strong mental shield around his body and forcefully pushed Voldemort away. The Dark Lord didn't resist, having accomplished what he had wanted, and the sound of his cold, high-pitched laughter echoed in Harry's mind as he fought to wake. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, he emerged from the dark shelter of his own mind into a vague consciousness. He didn't open his eyes. The room was silent and dark, that much he could tell, and he was wearing the stiff, itchy nightclothes he associated with the Hospital Wing. Too exhausted to take in anymore, he fell back into a deep, but natural, sleep.  
  
    When awareness found him next, a warm hand was carding slowly through his thick hair. He couldn't remember anyone ever touching him in this way, like a parent calming their child after a nightmare or a lover cuddling with their partner, and he found that he craved the safety the simple gesture brought. His body relaxed even farther into his bed, the soft, rhythmic tugging on his hair and the gentle scrape of fingers against his scalp was so affectionate and comforting that he let out a small moan and leaned into the touch slightly. The steady movement paused at his reaction.  
  
    "Harry?" The voice was a smooth, familiar tenor, bringing to mind a calm, gentle man with light brown hair. Remus. He sounded as if this had happened several times before. Harry made a faint sound in his throat and tilted his head, wanting Remus to continue moving his hand. The man next to the bed gasped and removed his hand to clasp Harry's smaller one tightly. "Harry? Are you awake, cub? Come on, open your eyes for me. That's it, you're almost there..."  
  
    Harry screwed his eyes tightly shut against the light in the room and reflexively flexed his muscles as his body prepared to wake fully. That was a mistake. His muscles protested the movement and pain flared high on his back. Harry groaned again, this time in pain, and his eyes shot open. Beside him, Remus's breath caught in his throat and he unconsciously leaned back. Harry's eyes were pulsing, shifting slowly from his normal bright green to a glowing emerald like the reflections of the sun off of storm-tossed seas.  
  
    "R-Remus?" Harry croaked painfully, concerned at the stunned expression on the werewolf's face. Remus seemed to snap back to reality and a warm, relieved smile spread over his face.  
  
    "Harry, it's good to see you-"  
  
    Before he could finish his sentence, the doors to the Hospital Wing burst open with great force, bouncing off of the walls with a bang. Instinctively, Harry jerked away from the loud threat and nearly fell off the bed before he curled himself into a ball, burying his sensitive eyes in his knees despite the pain that screamed from his back at the awkward position. He heard Remus leap up with a growl and stand protectively over him as sharp footsteps entered the room.  
  
    "What is the meaning of this?" Pomfrey shrieked as she threw open the door of her office and stormed into the room.  
  
    "Of all the brainless, arrogant, Gryffindorish..." A familiar snarl came from across the room, seemingly ignoring all other persons in the Hospital Wing as they strode in the direction of the potions cabinet and continued their monologue in a mutter. Harry could hear curses interspersed throughout and he was suddenly glad that he wasn't the one the Potions Master was angry at. "No subtlety whatsoever... Take two hundred points at least... could've blown up the bloody school..."  
  
    "Severus! Calm down!" Remus finally snapped, making all persons in the room freeze at the trace of a growl in his voice. The gentle werewolf rarely got angry, but it could be quite frightening when he did. "Harry just woke up and he doesn't need you storming in here-"  
  
    "He's awake? Remus Lupin, _why_ in Merlin's name didn't you inform me immediately?" Pomfrey scolded, bustling quickly to Harry's bedside. Remus's anger deflated and he returned to Harry's side, grasping his hand. As he listened and deduced that he was in no danger, Harry slowly relaxed muscle by muscle. His head was pounding. His muscles felt weak and watery, his back was burning in agony, and he felt somehow off balance, but otherwise he felt relatively well. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes and carefully rolled over. Madame Pomfrey could not contain her sharp intake of breath, but she recovered more quickly than Remus had.  
  
    "It's good to see you back among the living, Mr. Potter. How do you feel? Weak? Shaky? Hungry?" She continued to drill him, pausing only to fetch him a glass of water when it was clear that his abused throat was making it difficult for him to speak. Meanwhile, Harry managed to extract the details of what he had missed from Remus.  
  
    Apparently, this was the first time Harry had truly woken in three days. Remus had returned to Hogwarts after he had heard what happened and he didn't leave his cub's side except to use the loo and shower. Draco was also making frequent trips to the Hospital Wing but rarely did anything but glower at Harry's still form before turning and stalking out. Snape was in and out of the castle constantly, gathering information at Voldemort's hideaway, tending to Voldemort himself (who, Harry learned, had also been in a magical coma), and making reports to Dumbledore. Magical creatures across the country were just beginning to settle down from the chaos that had erupted at the magical explosions on the birth of the new year. The powerful repercussions from Voldemort's ritual had rippled across England; even wizards and witches felt it, to say nothing of the mermaids, thestrals, werewolves, and other creatures. The centaurs were still moaning about doom and several planets increasing in brilliance.  
  
    Madame Pomfrey (who had been called back to Hogwarts from her holiday with her family) had been at a loss as to how to treat Harry. He had suffered a severe magical shock, she explained, and his magic was still fluctuating wildly as it attempted to balance itself. It was unclear whether he would be more or less powerful than he had been before. It was all obviously a side effect of his connection to Voldemort. From what Snape could gather, Voldemort had been planning this ritual for months and its completion on the eve of the new year gave him an enormous power boost. It had not given him unlimited power as he had hoped, however, because his power was divided among so many factors. Residues of the power increase had been shunted along to anyone who was connected to the Dark Lord; all of the Death Eaters had felt intense pain in their Marks for hours afterward, and Harry had received the brunt of it, overloading his body until he had pitched headfirst into a coma. The best that they could hope for, Pomfrey explained, was that he would heal himself enough to return to consciousness on his own time.  
  
    "Harry, you should know..." Remus began hesitantly, looking uncomfortable. Harry tensed, expecting the worse. "Your eyes... They're, er, well..."  
  
    "They're glowing," Pomfrey said bluntly. Harry blinked, stunned. "A side effect of your magical imbalance, no doubt. Once your magic stabilizes, the color will return to normal, but it is best if you know about it beforehand."  
  
    "So I look like a freak."  
  
    "Merlin, Harry, no!" Remus said, horrified. "You don't look like a freak. It's a bit... disconcerting, I'll admit, but it's not terribly unusual. Your eyes always were a rather startling shade of bright green, and with your glasses on, you can't even notice it that much." Harry relaxed his tense shoulders slightly, relieved. He didn't want another physical sign of how different he was from everyone else, and he was glad that this would go back to normal.  
  
    Harry was confined to the bed for the rest of the day, but he was visited by a steady stream of people, including everyone from the Weasley's (who could only stay for a couple of hours) and Madame Pomfrey (over the years, she had developed a kind of maternal protectiveness when it came to Harry, and they had progressed to something like friends), to even Dumbledore and Flitwick. Before she left after lunch, Madame Pomfrey informed him that she was returning to her holiday now that the worst was over and instructed that he was to remain in bed for at least another full day before she would come and check on him again. Remus continued to stay with him throughout the day, but by curfew, he admitted that he had a lot of neglected work to attend to and reluctantly left Harry to sleep. With the help of a Dreamless Sleep potion, Harry did so happily.  
  
    It was the pain that woke him. With a gasp, Harry's eyes abruptly opened and he stared sightlessly up at the ceiling, struggling to control the stabbing pains radiating from his back. Sweat beaded at his forehead and his muscles were vibrating with tension. Eventually, the pain abated slightly and he was able to relax into his sweat-dampened sheets with a slow exhalation of breath. His luminescent eyes flickered in the dim light of the very early morning as he struggled to sit up against the headboard and put on his glasses. _What the heck was that?_ He wondered. It felt like his back was on fire, specifically in the area between his shoulder blades, where it felt as if two white-hot blades were digging into his spine. If he hadn't felt Madame Pomfrey heal his bruises with a spell, he would have thought it was from Malfoy smashing him into the wall the night of Voldemort's ritual.  
  
    He tried to calm himself with deep, slow breaths, but he couldn't prevent a small gasp from leaving him when the door to the Hospital Wing opened silently and a black-clad figure entered. It went unnoticed, however, as Snape strode with his normal bat-like gracefulness to the potions cupboard and restocked the shelves from the black bag he set on a nearby table. He watched the Potions Master for some time, barely reacting when Snape turned to close the black bag on the table and caught a glimpse of the twin leaf-green orbs in the darkness of the Hospital Wing. His face was cast into shadow, but Harry could tell by the abortive jerking of his right hand that Snape had recognized him and had just stopped himself from drawing his wand.  
  
    "Potter." The word was quiet and emotionless, but it broke through the silence like a gunshot.  
  
    "Professor Snape." He was also quiet. "How are you tonight, sir?"  
  
    "As well as can be expected. And you?"  
  
    The slightest of hesitations. "I am well." A beat of silence. The tall figure snapped the black bag shut with his slender fingers and slowly glided a step or two closer like a cat approaching a startled rabbit. His voice was slow and measured, with the faintest hint of warning.  
  
    "Why is it that I do not believe you, Potter?"  
  
    Harry couldn't see the expression on his face, which unnerved him slightly, but he felt no fear. "I... I can't say, sir. But don't worry, I'll live." His voice was faintly dry. _With that damnable prophecy, I doubt that anything but Voldemort himself can kill me now._ Wanting to change the subject, he blurted the first thing that came to his mind. "Sir, I have a question. What happened earlier today, when you came in while Remus and Poppy were talking to me?"  
  
    "And how could you possibly assume that that is your business?" Snape asked coolly.  
  
    "I'm just curious."  
  
    Snape remained silent for so long that Harry had assumed that he wasn't going to answer, so he nearly jumped when the other man answered. "I have been brewing several experimental potions whose purpose is to help you shield your mind from the Dark Lord's. A few of my more... unruly students saw fit to ruin them with volatile ingredients from my personal stores."  
  
    "They must've been insane!" Harry blurted, stunned into forgetting that he and his friends had also dipped into Snape's personal stores before. Snape's lips twitched into something that was just a shade too warm to be a smirk.  
  
    "I assure you, Mr. Potter, they have paid for their impertinence. Not as dearly as I would have wished, but the restrictions pertaining to my employment prevent me from exacting full revenge. Alas, that it is so..." Appreciating the humor, Harry let out a soft chuckle. Snape continued. "As it is, I have spent the rest of my day starting those potions again and filling Poppy's request for more potions. I have just completed them, as you can clearly see."  
  
    "Just now? It's nearly," Harry stole a glance at a clock on the wall, "half two already!" He was stunned by Snape's dedication and stubbornness, though he really shouldn't have been. For as long as he had known the man, Snape had never broken his word if he could help it and he done everything to the best of his ability; from his spying, to his insults, to his own potions. Harry contemplated him from his position on the bed, observing the way the faint light from the open bathroom door illuminated the harsh face beneath the curtain of black hair. That face was lined by a harsh and unforgiving life, one that Harry was acutely aware was similar to his own. He didn't like to think about it very much. Snape was a misanthropic git, after all, and a bitter, insulting teacher to boot, and Harry didn't like to think about how much he had in common with the man.  
  
    Nevertheless... he couldn't deny the fact that Snape had risked his life, more than once, to save Harry's. He continued to do so, even now. He may insult, belittle, bait, and sneer, but he was also a constant presence in Harry's life, steady and certain as a rock. He had never lied to Harry once in his life. The younger wizard was just beginning to realize how precious such traits were to him when he was uncomfortably aware of their lack in his life. He could never look to the man as a father figure, surely, but... Snape also understood. He was one of the few on the Light side that understood what it meant to be at Voldermot's dubious mercy, to suffer in silence through his torture and pleasure. Certainly he, more than anyone, would understand why Harry absolutely loathed the color red now, and why his sleep was often as restless as his visions.  
  
    "I am aware of that fact, Mr. Potter, as I too have learned to read the face of a clock," Snape was sneering lightly, though Harry couldn't help but notice that it wasn't as cruel as it was in front of others. It never was, when they were alone. "One wonders, therefore, why _you_ are also awake, when Poppy would have undoubtedly doused you with Dreamless Sleep-"  
  
    "I'm sorry." Harry suddenly blurted. The Potions Master paused in surprise. "I'm sorry, sir. I... I don't think I ever apologized... for looking into your Pensieve last year." Seeing Snape's face drain of emotion, Harry spoke faster. "I had thought that you were hiding something from me, like Dumbledore and the rest of the Order had been, and I just wanted to know what was going on so I didn't have to rush into things blindly. It doesn't excuse my actions, but even you have to admit that I have a habit of ending up in dangerous situations with Vol- the Dark Lord and Death Eaters and such. I didn't want to be the cause of another death, but obviously... just the opposite happened. So- so, anyway, I just wanted to apologize for that... and..." He took a deep, steadying breath, unnerved by Snape's continued silence, and plunged on. "I also wanted to apologize for my father's actions. I... I know what it's like to be bullied and belittled, and I'm not proud that my father turned out to be just as big of a prat as my cousin when he was in school. I know that he changed later, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. So... I'm sorry for that, too."  
  
    He looked Snape steadily in the eye as he spoke, but at the end of his speech, he dropped his head and fiddled with the duvet in his lap. A shudder ran through his frame as pain stabbed through his back once more, but he didn't dare mention it. Snape still hadn't said a word, but remained looming over Harry's bed with his arms crossed and an inscrutable expression on his face as he stared unceasingly at the small wizard. He seemed to be weighing Harry's sincerity.

    "Foolish boy. You could not possibly know or understand the amount of pain your father and his friends put me through, and thus there is no point to your apology." Harry bowed his head in acceptance, a drop of sweat rolling down his temple as the pain in his back abruptly increased once more. "Nonetheless... I accept."  
  
    He said no more, and really, there was nothing left to say. He had been forgiven. Harry raised his head to meet his professor's eyes, the unearthly brilliance of his eyes completely overpowering any remnant of his previous color. "T-thank you, Profess- Ah!" Harry let out a pained cry as the pain became overwhelming and he clenched his eyes shut. He hunched over his legs, wrapping his arms around his skinny waist and digging his fingers into his cloth-covered back in an attempt to quell the pain.  
  
    Snape was at his side in an instant, onyx eyes taking in the boy's sweaty brow, flushed skin, and taut muscles. "Potter!" He barked. Harry didn't seem to hear him. "Potter, what's wrong? So help me, if you don't answer, I'll use your various extremities in a poison and feed it to you!"  
  
    Harry couldn't understand what the professor was saying, but he recognized the dangerous tone and fought hard for coherency through the pain. Snape moved to press Harry's shoulders into the pillow behind him in order to force a pain relieving potion down his throat. The boy shrunk away before he could even touch him, however, and Snape stepped back, not wanting to risk Harry hurting himself in his attempts to get away. At a loss as to what to do, he impatiently flicked his wand, filling the room with light.  
  
    "Prof- Professor...." Harry moaned, the sound muffled as his face was still pressed into his knees. The pain was slowly, slowly abating, and his mind was clearing enough for him to form a sentence. "It h-hurts... my back."  
  
    "Your back?" Snape repeated, obviously perplexed, but he wasted no more time. "Potter, I'm going to touch you now. Just relax and keep talking. Do not panic. How does it hurt?" Harry shuddered through the pain, his breath coming in great gasps, but he listened to what the man was saying and tried not to flinch when Snape pressed a hand to his shoulder, easing him back onto his pillows. Harry's body tensed at the pain; his back seemed unbelievably sensitive to the rough brush of his pajamas against the linens, and Snape had to grasp his shoulder and hip gently to roll him over on his stomach. The Potions Master indicated that he should grab the pillow in his hands.  
  
    "F-feels like k-knives in my back," Harry gasped out in response to Snape's question. His thoughts were foggy and slow, failing to connect long enough to comprehend more than glimpses of what was happening to him or what Snape was saying. He didn't even react when Snape banished his shirt from his body, even though some part of his mind screamed in panic as the secret he had fought to keep for years and years was so suddenly revealed.  
  
    Snape drew in a sharp breath with a hiss, caught completely by surprise by the scars that littered the quivering, slender back of the Boy-Who-Lived. They ranged from long to short, thin to thick, smooth to raised, clean to ragged, and everything in between. There didn't seem to be much more than a square inch that wasn't flawed by some scar. Snape's horrified gaze traveled from a jagged scar curling around Harry's ribs to a series of clean, neat lines that his numb brain eventually understood to form letters in the small of the boy's back. _Freak_. It was printed neatly, with obvious care to detail; from the small tail on the end of the "a" to the perfectly straight slashes that formed the "k". For once in his life, thought seemed to completely fail Snape's methodical mind.  
  
    He was jerked back to reality, however, when another spasm of pain racked Harry's thin frame and a shift of movement under the skin of his back caught Snape's attention. Pushing aside the appalling revelation of the boy's obviously traumatic past for the moment, Snape focused his attention on the two small bulges between the younger wizard's shoulder blades. These were undoubtedly the source of Harry's pain. Unfortunately, Snape had no idea what they were or how to deal with them. He certainly wouldn't risk removing them when they were so close to the boy's spine. He needed to call Poppy.  
  
    Harry felt a sharp stab of fear when Snape began to move away with a grim expression on his face and before he could think about it, his hand shot out and grasped the tall man's sleeve. "N-no, Professor, don't leave," he pleaded, nearly delirious.  
  
    "I must get Madame Pomfrey, Potter, this is far beyond my expertise," Snape said stiffly, but Harry refused to release his grip.  
  
    "No... Don't want - don't want her to see... can't know..." Harry babbled, not knowing why it was so important that only Snape knew about this, but too far gone to care. "Stay, stay... please, can't know- please, P'fessor, _please_!" Snape hesitated, uncertain, but as another spasm shook that frail body and the two bumps split slightly, letting blood well out and leave twin trails down Harry's back, Snape made his decision. Sharply flicking his wand, he summoned a bowl and conjured several cloths as well as clean, warm water. He coaxed Harry into swallowing a pain-reliever before he sat in the hard chair next to the bed and settled his supplies close to him. Harry relaxed minutely with a shaky breath as the pain diminished, but he could tell that the potion wasn't working as well as it normally did.  
  
    "Alright Potter, I'm staying. Relax now, while I tend to your back," the tall man said quietly, dipping a cloth and wringing it out. Without waiting for a response, he swiped the cloth carefully across the boy's damaged skin, cleaning the blood away with uncharacteristic gentleness. Harry relaxed even more at the warmth, but hissed in pain as Snape wiped the highly sensitive bumps, exposing the clean, inch-long slits in the distended flesh. When Harry's skin was finally clean, Snape rinsed the cloth and wrung it out again before he laid it across the bumps. The water was stained a dirty red by now, and the Potions Master banished it before conjuring more clean water, this time lukewarm in temperature. He soaked another clean rag, wrung it out, and folded it before laying it across Harry's sweaty brow. The young wizard sighed in relief, and Snape struggled to ignore the slight, uncomfortable _shift_ of something in his chest at the pitiful sound.  


* * *

  
    Nearly two hours passed in this manner. Snape continued to clean Harry's skin of blood and sweat, changing the cloths when they became too bloody or cold. Harry was drifting, nearly asleep from his professor's gentle ministrations and the soft murmurs he seemed unaware that he was making. "Relax, Potter, I'm not going to kill you... today, at least. There, that's better. Open your mouth, Potter, you need another pain potion. Silly boy, were you trying to gain some twisted sense of salvation through ignoring your own pain as you sought your misguided forgiveness? Pain does not simply go away when you ignore it, Potter, no matter how much you may wish it to."  
  
     Just as light was just beginning to touch the horizon, Harry let out another cry of pain that had the Potions Master stiffening with dread. He became aware of faint movement coming from beneath the skin of the boy's back, as if the muscles were twitching and flexing in an attempt to move some unseen appendage, and he just had enough time to reach for another pain-relieving potion when Harry suddenly buried his face into his pillow and let out a high, blood-chilling scream that was thankfully muffled. His body arched off of the bed and Snape leapt off of his chair when he saw the mysterious twin bumps split even farther and blood literally splattered onto the previously-white sheets. Before Snape could blink, two large, bony _things_ erupted from the bumps in Harry's back, showering flecks of blood onto Snape and the surrounding area.  
  
    The spy let out a surprised shout despite himself and shielded his face from the gore. When nothing more followed, however, he cautiously lowered his arm and gaped at the sight on the bed before him. For the second time within the space of hours, he was utterly and completely unprepared for yet another revelation involving Potter. For the Boy-Who-Lived, despite the complete impossibility of such a thing occurring in nature, now had two appendages that the Potions Master now recognized as _wings_ attached to his back. They were plastered close to the bone with long ropes of blood and were currently lying limp on either side of the Gryffindor's small body. Snape's mind recovered quicker from this shock (he could now understand why Potter's little friends never seemed fazed by the extraordinary occurrences surrounding the Boy-Who-Lived) and he could only reflect on the mercy it was that Harry had finally lost consciousness. Really, he had seen bigger and stronger men than Potter faint after only seconds of such pain.  
  
    Snape was broken from his frozen state when a gasp and a startled exclamation of "What the-!" came from the doorway. The cry was abruptly silenced by the Potions Master, who had had his wand in his hand like lightning and shot a binding charm at the intruder, who turned out to be none other than Draco Malfoy. _No doubt on one of his impotent visits to Potter,_ Snape thought uncharitably, feeling his heart beat slow from its sudden panic. He approached his godson slowly, taking note of his wide, startled grey eyes and pale face. Snape loved his godson, despite Lucius' half-successful attempts at molding him to be the Dark Lord's right hand, and he was also proud of the young man Draco had grown into. Snape was well aware of Draco's wavering loyalties over the summer and his eventual break from his father just a week ago even though his godson hadn't confided in him personally. After all, Draco still thought that he was a Death Eater (albeit a less vicious one than his father), but Snape was always careful to keep a close eye on the boy. He had seen the signs of silent defiance against his father and he knew it was only a matter of time before he would seek out the Light for asylum. And, to be truthful, he couldn't be terribly surprised that he was lurking around Potter, no doubt trying to find a way to gain some semblance of trust from the Boy-Who-Lived.  
  
    It was for these reasons and more that Snape didn't simply Obliviate the boy and send him back to the dungeons to sleep for four more hours, like he should have been doing in the first place. He knew that Draco was sincere and trustworthy, quick and clever, and he knew that the boy could keep a secret. He also knew that he needed help, and there were few on the Light side that he would trust with a situation as delicate as this. And so, with was with a solemn expression that he strode gracefully to his godson and looked him straight in the eyes.  
  
    "Relax, I do not intend on harming the boy; or you, for that matter. I need your Oath, Draco, that the things that you see or hear here will remain between you, Potter, and I. The precious Chosen One needs more help than I can give him at the moment, and as you have conveniently made yourself available..." He let himself trail off, and was gratified a moment later by his godson blinking his eyes once in the universal symbol for "yes". Snape smirked in satisfaction and lessened the bind enough for Draco to speak.  
  
    "I swear by my magic and my blood that the things I see or hear in regards to Harry Potter will remain secret unless in the presence of Harry Potter and Severus Snape. So mote it be." A warm flush of magic blossomed throughout the air and a brief pulse of magic signified that the Oath had been accepted and was now in full force. Raising an eyebrow at the choice of wording Draco had used, Snape received nothing but a faint sneer in response and quickly released his godson from his binding. He wasted no more time.  
  
    "Now, quickly, we must tend to him. He woke several hours ago despite the Dreamless Sleep he had been given, and complained of a pain in his back. It grew in severity until I had no choice but to tend to it as best I could, as he had adamantly refused any other aid from Poppy or other persons. I found two small protuberances on his back that soon split and bled heavily, causing Potter even more pain. Obviously, the potions are not working as well as they should, but Potter finally passed out from the pain when these..." he gestured to the bloody wings, "...emerged from his back. I believe the best course now would be to clean them as quickly as possible and, perhaps, conceal them in some manner if Potter continues to wish to remain... discreet."  
  
    "Do you think it's wise to remain silent about this?" Draco asked, his brow furrowed slightly as his eyes remained fixed on the small figure on the bed. Something was teasing at the edges of his memory, something important about those wings, but it evaded his grasp.  
  
    "Perhaps, perhaps not," Snape admitted cryptically. "Certainly it must be revealed eventually, but at the moment I find no harm in investigating the situation further. Now, enough questions. Conjure a bowl, rags, and warm water. Take care around the skin at the base of the wing as it is highly sensitive."  
  
    "Why can't we just _Scourgify_ it?" Draco asked, ignoring Snape's impatient growl even as he followed his godfather's directions.  
  
    "We cannot know the effect that magic will have on them. If they are the result of a spell or curse, unlikely though that is, contact with more magic could be dangerous. If they are natural but magical in nature, they could have built-in defenses that could harm us. As it is, we have no idea whether they are completely natural and unmagical or not." Draco nodded and stopped asking questions, just working in silence with the Potions Master until the wings were clean of blood and other fluids. Snape was careful to send a discreet glamour charm at the skin of Potter’s back.  
  
    Snape carefully catalogued the results in his mind: each wing was a bit less than a meter long, with a total wingspan of just over one and a half meters. The feathers were long, but quite bendable and weak still. Beneath the blood, the wings were entirely white with faintly silver sheen. They were incredibly soft.  When their task was completed, the two wizards stepped back and watched as the Boy-Who-Lived shuddered in his unconsciousness and slowly, weakly, drew the wings up to rest along his back in a folded position. Snape couldn't help but be disconcerted at that, as the reaction suggested that the feathery appendages came with instinctual reactions and thus were more natural in nature, rather than a spell or curse that could be easily dispelled.  
  
    "Fallen." Snape jerked his head around at the quiet mutter, only to find Draco staring intensely at the boy lying on the blood-soaked hospital bed. "He's a Guardian. A Fallen. He _must_ be. There's no other explanation."

    His unique silver eyes flashed with an indefinable emotion and the Potions Master returned his gaze to the Boy-Who-Lived, eyes narrowed in thought. He had heard the myths, of course, just as every child did when they entered the wizarding world, but his methodical mind had rarely put stock in such tales. As much as he didn't want to admit it (after all, who could _possibly_ think that there was that amount of power contained in the body of a short, skinny child with unbelievable luck), it was a vague possibility. The boy could have been holding back for all of his years of school (impossible), or there had been a block on his magic (doubtful), or his magic had simply grown exponentially as he aged, most likely due to his connection to Voldemort (distinctly possible).  
  
    As it was, with no further information available, Snape had to accept the possibility that Harry Potter had enough power within him to become a Fallen, the first in _centuries_. His mind promptly went blank for the third time that night, and he only managed a faint grunt at his godson's statement.

* * *

    Harry woke slowly from unconsciousness only minutes later. His head was pounding mercilessly, his muscles were like water, and his back, though better, still throbbed. Hearing the murmur of low conversation, he turned his head slightly to see Snape and Malfoy standing a few feet away from his bed. _What the heck is Malfoy doing here?_ He thought, confused. From the bits and pieces he remembered, Snape had been alone with him in the Hospital Wing. Helping him. _Snape_. He let out a mortified groan and buried his face in his pillow. The voices broke off and Harry felt a presence move to the side of his bed.  
  
    "Potter?" It was Snape, but his voice was still emotionless, not mocking or sneering as Harry had expected. "Drink this, Potter. For the pain." With shaky arms, Harry lifted himself into a straddled position and clutched the sheets tightly in his fists when he became lightheaded. He flinched violently when a warm hand grasped his shoulder gently to keep him upright, but relaxed minimally when the hand made no further move. Snape pressed another vial into his hands and Harry quickly drank it, sighing at the relief in brought. His thoughts cleared, and he suddenly froze in horror. Snape's hand was still on his shoulder. His _bare_ shoulder.  
  
    Harry jerked away with a cry, falling off the bed and to the tiled floor hard, overriding the pain in favor of scuttling backwards along the floor until he had backed himself if to a corner. The back of his head hit the wall hard, but the rest of his body was cushioned by something very soft and warm. His ignored it for the moment, panic coursing through his veins like liquid lightning. "What the _hell_ , Snape! Where is my shirt?" He yelped, his voice breaking painfully in his panic. He wrapped his thin limbs around his bare chest and drew his legs up in a protective ball.  
  
    "That's the least of your worries at the moment, Potter." Malfoy drawled, watching Harry's movements.  
  
    "Be quiet, Draco! Leave us for a moment, if you will." Snape snapped, leveling his hardest glare at the blond. Malfoy stared back rebelliously for several long moments before he broke his gaze with a very unMalfoy-ish growl and stalked from the room. Snape stared after him, lips pressed into a grim line, before turning his attention to Harry. He glided forward several steps, until Harry pressed farther back against the wall; at which point, he crossed his arms and stared down at the small wizard.  
  
    "If you'll recall, Mr. Potter, your back was in intense pain last night. I removed your shirt in order to help you and, as per your request, I have not contacted Madame Pomfrey to inform her of your latest... developments," Snape said stiffly. "Mr. Malfoy happened upon us at a point when I needed some assistance in dealing with you. He is my godson and I trust his discretion in this matter, especially as I have forced him to take a Wizard's Oath that what he saw here would remain between the three of us." The spy fell silent, watching Harry for a sign of understanding. He didn't receive it. He continued quietly, "Potter, he did not see the scars on your back. I did, however, and do not mistake that I will ignore it. That conversation will be explored in the near future. At the moment, we have more… pressing matters to attend to."  
  
    Harry closed his eyes in horror, letting his head fall forward onto his knees. Snape knew. _Snape_. Of all of the people in the world, it had to be the man that hated him almost as much as Voldemort. No doubt he thought Harry was weak for being unable to defend himself. Harry could hear him now, in class: _"Yet another failed potion, Mr. Potter. Clearly your detentions are not having an effect; perhaps I should resort to a punishment you are more used to?"_ Despair enveloped him. He just wanted to disappear, sink into the floor and never be seen again by Snape or Dumbledore or Pomfrey or _anyone_.  
  
    Suddenly, he felt his back muscles involuntarily clenching, and the warm, soft thing he had run into before was wrapping around him; not big enough to cover him completely, but still very comforting. He felt warm and safe in the small cocoon, protected from Snape's cold presence, and Harry opened his eyes curiously. The first he saw was white. Whiteness surrounded him on all sides, only leaving gaps directly above his head and beneath his arms. When his eyes interpreted the pattern, however, he gasped. Feathers. _They're... wings?_ _What in Merlin's name is this?_ Slowly reaching out, he brushed the wall of feathers carefully with his fingers. He jerked his hand back when he realized he could _feel_ it. He could feel his hand touching the wing, in a strange way, as if it was another appendage. That wasn't right.  
  
    "P-Professor..." He stuttered, not caring that his voice was somewhat plaintive. "W-what is this?" He reached up and tugged at the top of the wing, wincing at the unfamiliar sensation of touching the soft feathers and feeling the touch simultaneously. He pulled the appendage down, wanting to be released from its protective embrace, and was startled when it moved easily away, lifting and shifting back as if it had been reading his mind. Harry's hands began trembling.  
  
    "They are your wings, Potter. They were what caused the pain in your back last night, and they emerged only an hour ago. I am not certain why they are attached to your body, but-"  
  
    Harry stopped listening. His blood was rushing in his ears and dread was rising in his chest. "No, no, no, no, _no_..." he moaned, clutching his head in his hands. He couldn't have _wings_! It wasn't natural, it wasn't _normal_ , not even in the wizarding world. It was just another thing to make him different, _unique_ , _freakish_. He was abnormal, he could never fit in anywhere, not as the Boy-Who-Lived, not as a wizard, and _not_ as a freak with bloody _wings_ growing out of his back! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, he just wanted to be _normal_ and do his homework and worry about girls or boys, and he _didn't_ want wings, why couldn't they just go away, just disappear so that he could pretend that he was normal and ordinary and good and _loved_ -  
  
    Harry arched his back as pain flared through him once more. He strangled a scream before it could leave his throat, but he couldn't stop the high keen of pain that came from him instead. It was nearly as painful as before, but this time he managed to hang onto consciousness. His back seemed to be tearing open again, but this time he felt something retreating into his body until a strange heaviness he hadn't noticed before disappeared and his body felt lighter. Before he even looked, he knew that the wings were gone. At least, on the outside.  
  
    "Potter, that was incredibly foolish! Do you never think before you act, silly boy?" Snape had crouched next to him and was inspecting his back, scowling the whole time. Harry, exhausted, merely shivered and let out a moan of pain when the Potions professor conjured more rags and a bowl of water and began carefully cleaning the blood away again. This time, when he was finished, Snape wrapped thick bandages around Harry's chest and back and handed him another pain potion. Finally, he conjured another hospital shirt and Harry jerkily pulled it on before Snape led him back to his bed (thankfully clean of all blood now).  
  
    "Potter," he said quietly when Harry had settled on the bed and sat staring blankly at his hands. "If you insist on keeping this secret - which, I admit, is not entirely a bad idea, considering certain students in this school - then I must insist that you tell the Headmaster at the very least. It is my obligation, not only as a teacher, but as an adult, to inform Albus of this development, but you may prefer to tell him yourself. The situation bears close watching in case of new developments, and you must realize that this does not only involve you; if my suspicions are correct, there could be some danger to other students as your magic adjusts."  
  
    Harry blinked before he nodded resignedly. He was so depressed that he barely noticed that Snape's voice was far more civil than it normally was. As it was, he murmured a quiet "Thank you, Professor," before he turned on his side and closed his eyes pointedly. He didn't want to think about it anymore.  
  
    His exhausted body slipped into a light sleep soon after. He wasn't awake to feel Snape remove his glasses and set them on the night table, nor did he see the spy glide silently from the room to meet the silently seething blond. All he knew was an escape from the chaos his life had suddenly become and his only worries were the vague dreams of restlessness, defeat, and terror.

 


	5. Chapter 5

   The rest of Christmas Break passed without further incidents that sent Harry to the Hospital Wing. True to his word, he had told the Headmaster about his wings, but he staunchly refused to either show them to the older wizard or even remove the bandages, which were now unnecessary as the slits in the bumps had healed and now caused him little to no pain. It was clear to both Dumbledore and Snape that Harry was desperately avoiding dealing with the latest abnormal development, but despite their attempts to draw Harry into broaching the subject, they were both met with belligerent silence, evasive tactics, and outright refusal. Even Draco's most wily, stubborn, and violent attempts had been easily rebuffed by the Boy-Who-Lived. Harry avoided all interaction with the three, spending most of his time sealed within Gryffindor Tower or with Remus who, though somewhat concerned, was still ignorant of the turmoil his cub was in.  
  
    Through their own research, Dumbledore and Snape determined that Harry was indeed most likely a member of the previously-thought extinct or mythical Pennae, or Fallen. Even before the ritual, the aged Headmaster confided, he could feel the depth of power in the young Gryffindor that rarely manifested itself. Even he, however, had not anticipated that the power Harry received through Voldemort would prompt such a change. Unfortunately, it was clear that Harry thought of it as a curse and an abomination, rather than the rare and powerful gift it was. And until Harry accepted himself, as well as his new powers, they could do little to help him along this difficult path.  
   
    Harry's friends had returned to find the black-haired boy significantly more subdued than he had been before despite the air of cheer and lightheartedness that he tried to put on. All of them, even Neville, had questioned him in their own way about the cause, and most backed off when he mumbled something about spending the break in detention with two of the most hated Slytherins in school. The excuse hadn't passed by his closest friends, but their gentle prods for information yielded nothing except stubborn silence, vague platitudes, or - once, when they had pushed too hard - one of Harry's famous magical tantrums. The unearthly glow that had filled Harry's eyes at that time had woken an instinctual fear deep within them and they had had quickly retreated.  
  
    Harry attended a series of Order meetings in the weeks after Voldemort's ritual to provide details and explain what Voldemort had said while he had visited Harry's mind. Speculation about Harry's increasing connection with the Dark Lord flew thick and fast, but luckily no one seemed too worried that Voldemort would burst out of Harry's head at any moment. An interesting addition to the meetings was a tall figure in a hooded black cloak who seemed to lurk in the corner of the room until Dumbledore called him forward. He provided bits of information about the Death Eater's movements that even Snape wasn't privy to. Harry was particularly wary around the deep-voiced stranger despite his inclusion in the Order, and by the murmured rumors flying among the other members, no one else knew much about the man either. Harry determined to watch his visions closely to see if he could recognize the man's voice among the Death Eaters; it never hurt to be too safe, after all.   
  
    He buried himself in his homework and his marks improved accordingly. Feeling a strange restlessness to be out in high, open spaces, he forwent the Room of Requirement and instead snuck up to the Astronomy tower to practice Defense; including his wandless and silent magic which improved at such a fast rate that he could now do most fourth-year spells without a wand. In the end, it was all really a means of distracting himself from the abnormal... _things_ in his body that he kept tightly bound beneath his thick robes. The tell-tale bumps were still quite sensitive and the tight bandages hurt him sometimes, but he refused to explore the matter further. No one else even suspected the freakish truth of the situation, and he was determined to keep it that way. Of all his friends, Hermione seemed especially worried about this new development, and in the end, it was she that was the catalyst for the events leading to the revelation of Harry's secret.  
  
    "Hermione, where're you goin'?" Ron asked from his place sprawled in front of the common room fire. Harry had left just minutes before mumbling about Defense practice; the fourth time this week that he had done so. Hermione was standing up, pulling on her cloak, and wrapping her Gryffindor scarf around her neck, her face taking on the familiar determined expression she had before she tackled a particularly difficult school assignment.  
  
    "I'm going after him, Ron," she whispered fiercely. "This has gone on long enough! Something happened to him over the break, something to do with the ritual V-Voldemort did, and I want to find out what it is. He can't keep going on like this; he'll exhaust himself at this pace! I have to help him."  
  
    Ron sighed gustily and dragged himself to his feet. "I'm going with you then. I'm his friend, too, and I'll be able to punch his lights out if he gets too stubborn." He said it lightly, but they both knew how dangerous Harry's temper could be. He had mellowed out and matured a great deal this past year, but it was still possible for him to lose control when pushed too hard. Hermione nodded in agreement, and Ron pulled on his own ragged cloak before joining the bushy-haired witch in following Harry up to the Astronomy tower.   
  
    As it was just before dinner, the halls were empty of students and they quickly made their way up to the tower. They climbed the winding stairs to the top and were just about to open the wooden door leading to the outside when they heard raised voices. They paused, glancing at each other with raised eyebrows. Even Ron had to admit that Malfoy hadn't provoked Harry in quite some time and they were both curious as to why Harry was responding in turn when he had previously ignored the annoying Slytherin. On unspoken agreement, they pressed their ears to the door.  
  
    Harry had been working out his stress by conjuring random targets around the walls of the tower and practicing the accuracy of his defense spells. He had been working himself into a good routine and was improving when Malfoy had suddenly walked onto the tower as if he owned the castle. Harry had stopped and gritted his teeth when he saw the gleam in the blonde's eye that indicated that he was not going to enjoy what happened next. And indeed, at this point he was ready to hex Malfoy six ways to Friday if he didn't shut up, but it seemed like Malfoy couldn't take a hint.  
  
    "If you don't shut your mouth right now, Malfoy, I'll take it off," Harry snarled, deciding to take the direct approach.   
  
    "I just don't understand why you don't use this to your advantage!" Malfoy shot back, somehow managing to look both smug and frustrated.  
  
    "What I do or don't do is none of your business!"  
  
    "It became my business when I saw you with several new _appendages_ , Potter!"  
  
    "You took an Oath of secrecy, Malfoy, that doesn't mean that I have to explain myself to you!"  
  
    "It could be the key to ending this bloody war! Doesn't that mean anything to you?" The two eavesdroppers looked at each other in surprise when they heard Harry's bitter snort.  
  
    "Tell me how a handful of feathers is going to defeat Voldemort, Malfoy. All you have are theories, and stupid ones at that. I studied the Fallen, too, and it's completely _impossible_ for there to be one now, even if they used to exist!  What I have is some bloody genetic mutation that's made me into some sort of _freak._ " Hermione gasped and shoved open the door at the absolute self-loathing she heard in her best friend's tone. Ron, equally concerned, followed after her into the cold, breezy air.  
  
    "Harry, what are you saying? You're not a freak!" Hermione cried, rushing to Harry's side.  
  
    " _Hermione?_ " Harry said incredulously, backing up against a low wall when she looked like she was going to capture him in a bone-breaking hug.   
  
    "Lord, don't you teach your pets not to barge in on other people's conversations, Potter?" Malfoy asked with disdain.   
  
    "Shut it, Malfoy!" Ron spat.   
  
    "Oh, Harry, what's going on? What happened?"   
  
    "Hermione, I can't-"  
  
    "Yes, Potter, do tell," Malfoy was smirking, his fine hair blowing across his face as he stared challengingly at the raven-haired boy. "Why have you been so moody, lately? What happened during the Dark Lord's ritual? Why are you bandaging yourself? What are those bumps on your-" Harry saw red. He shook off Hermione's hand and stepped forward.  
  
    " _Sectumsempra!_ " Harry roared, the rage and panic pumping through his veins fueling the orange of the cutting hex to a brilliant red-orange. Malfoy quickly dove to the side but his left arm caught a glancing blow. Blood spurted onto the gray stone as Malfoy held the wounded arm close to his body.  
  
    " _Expelliarmus!_ " He snarled, his powerfully-charged spell racing through the air like a bolt of lightning. Harry dodged easily, but too late he remembered Hermione behind him. The bushy-haired witch let out a cry of surprise when the force of the spell slammed into her, but it quickly escalated into a scream when her knees hit the low gap in the wall behind her and she disappeared over the edge.

 

* * *

    "Hermione!" Ron cried, rushing over to the edge. Malfoy stood frozen in place, his wand still raised, a dawning expression of horror on his face. Harry, too, was frozen, his mental voice echoing Ron's anguished cry. 

  
    Time seemed to slow as the sound of his heartbeat filled his ears with deafening thumps. _Hermione._ His best friend. The bossy bookworm that had so annoyed him and Ron before she showed true Gryffindor loyalty in lying to their teachers. The intuitive witch that always had his best interests at heart, worrying constantly over his eating and study habits until he thought he would scream, but at the same time showing a depth of understanding and support that he had lacked in his life. She was like a sister to him. An essential part of the Trio that had disappeared over the edge of that wall and would soon be lost if he didn't _do something!_  
  
    Something deep and instinctive rose within his chest, spreading through his mind like a flower's petals opening to the sun. Before he even understood what he was going to do, he was bolting across the tower, tearing off his heavy winter cloak and his shirt as he did so until he was running in just his black uniform slacks. For the first time, he cast a wandless and wordless spell that cut the thick bandages from his body. The narrow strips unraveled quickly, snapping and fluttering in the wind behind him as he rocketed past a frozen Ron and leapt off of the edge of the tower without pausing.   
  
   The familiar roar of wind rushing past his ears immediately enveloped him and his sharp eyes caught sight of Hermione falling beneath him. At this speed and angle, no spells would reach her. He didn't dare waste any more time. Not really knowing what he was doing, but hoping that it would work, he closed his eyes tightly and focused on the foreign part of him that had emerged after Voldemort’s ritual. For the first time since he had woken up, he let go. He let the overwhelming feeling of need flood his mind and the next second, he felt something deep within him stir. Pain radiated from his back as the wings emerged, but it was not nearly as painful as it had been the first time.  
  
    Almost instantly, he felt the drag of the wind pulling him back and he instinctively pulled the wings closer to his body, letting the wind stream over the sleek feathers until he was streaking toward the ground like a bullet. They were over halfway down the length of the tower when they met, Harry grabbing onto Hermione’s cloak and pulling her close. She automatically wrapped her arms around him tightly, and her eyes, which had been closed in resignation, looked incredibly large in her pale face as her hair whipped around them. She looked up at her rescuer, her mouth forming into an "o" of shock.  
  
    " _Harry?!_ "   
  
    The black-haired wizard ignored her shriek, instead spreading his wings to catch the wind. This was when he learned that his wings were not big enough to carry his weight. They actually managed to slow significantly before the drag on the still-weak muscles forced them to give way. Hermione clung tighter and let out another shriek and Harry realized that the ground was getting very close now. In a last ditch effort, he forcibly spread his wings once more and chanced letting go with one hand and casting a shield against the wind. It was one he had learned after falling from his broom during one of his Quidditch matches, and he was incredibly glad he did. They had no more time for spells as the ground was only seconds away, and Harry wrapped his arms tighter around his best friend, preparing for the landing.   
  
    It was rough. Harry, who was at least somewhat prepared for falls from great heights during Quidditch, was little more than bruised and scraped up, though some of the scratches were deep and seeping blood. Hermione, on the other hand, let out a scream of pain when she landed wrong and her ankle broke. Harry held on to her tighter so she didn't fall and shielded her body as best he could when they finally rolled to a stop not ten meters from the Astronomy tower. Harry ended up halfway covering Hermione, his wings still shielding them protectively, and there were several seconds of silence as they both gathered their wits and their breath.  
  
    Finally, Harry rolled away from his best friend and sat up, carefully flexing the wounded muscles of his back and wings to lay the soft feathers against his back in a resting position. He didn’t think that he could retract them at this point. He ached all over. He could feel blood trickling from a cut on his brow and his body was fairly throbbing with sudden exhaustion.  
  
    "Hermione, are you alright?" He asked softly. Hermione shifted her gaze from where it had been trained on the appendages on his back and Harry could see that her face was still incredibly pale, her eyes dilated, her breath uneven, and her expression dazed. She was going into shock. Thus, it was no surprise when her normally logical mind completely failed her.  
  
    "Harry, are you an angel?"  
      
    _Far from it._ "No, I'm not. Sorry." Harry murmured. Hermione didn't reply. Afraid that she would pass out soon - _people in shock shouldn't go to sleep, should they?_ \- Harry quickly stood up, swaying as blood rushed to his head, and conjured a stretcher. He levitated the bushy-haired witch onto it, concerned when she didn't react to the change of position. Only her eyes moved to keep the snowy white wings in her view. Before he returned to the castle, he pulled his wand from his pocket and pressed it to his chest, murmuring a complicated glamour spell to hide his scars. It would stay locked in place until he removed it, but it was so draining that he might only be able to hold it for maybe two hours if he was lucky.  
  
    Harry was infinitely grateful that dinner had already started, leaving the halls completely empty as he rushed through to the Hospital Wing, but only because it meant that he didn't have to slow down or worry about running into anyone. Truthfully, he couldn't care less if the entire Great Hall saw his wings at this point; all of his attention was focused on Hermione. Finally, he threw open the doors of the all-too-familiar Hospital Wing and called for Madame Pomfrey.   
  
    She rushed out at the urgent tone of his voice, barely giving at glance at the wings that sprouted from her more frequent patient's back, and darted around him to tend to Hermione. She barked out questions and instructions as she levitated the girl onto a bed and Harry babbled out the story, barely coherent enough for her to understand that they had fallen from the Astronomy tower and Hermione had caught the worst of the fall. Finally, when one of his wings obstructed the medi-witch's path, she snapped at him to find a chair to sit in so he would be out of her way. Worried, but feeling his exhaustion now that Hermione was in proper medical care, Harry complied. Minutes later, Ron burst into the Hospital Wing as well, Harry's robes clutched in his hands and his face so pale that his freckles stood out.   
  
    "Madame Pomfrey!" He bellowed, "Hermione and Harry-" He stopped short when he saw that the nurse was already tending to a now-unconscious Hermione and he let out a great gasp of relief. When his eyes found Harry, he could only gape at the wings that Harry had been too tired to retract. Ron's incredulous gaze was almost too much for Harry, who nearly felt relieved when Malfoy strolled into the Hospital Wing as if he hadn't a care in the world. Those silver eyes caught Harry's, and the Boy-Who-Lived almost fancied that he could see something akin to relief and worry in the shaded depths before it vanished and a familiar smirk twisted the other boy's lips.  
  
    "I thought you might be here. Really, Potter, we must stop meeting like this."  
  
    Harry's eyes narrowed, the faint luminescence of his green eyes brightening to a steady glow. " _You._ " He hissed, his piercing gaze pinned on the blond before him. "This is _your_ fault!" The smirk slipped from Malfoy's face almost instantly, his face becoming more serious than Harry had ever seen him. The rage within him paused despite himself.  
  
    "I'm sorry." It was quiet, so much so that it barely reached Harry's ears, but it was clearly sincere. "I didn't mean for it to hit her. I'd forgotten she was behind you and I hadn't expected you to dodge. All I wanted to do was disarm you so you wouldn't kill me." Harry felt himself soften slightly, but stopped himself before he lowered his guard. This was _Draco Malfoy_ after all.  
  
    "Yeah right, you filthy Death Eater!" Ron snarled, looking as if he was going to lunge at Malfoy with his bare hands, but Harry stopped him with a raised hand.   
  
    "Wait, Ron," he said, his voice as cold and hard as steel. His eyes were like chips of emerald as he stared deeply into Malfoy's eyes. Without bothering to use any subtlety or care, he brutally tore through the Slytherin's mind, knowing full well that what he was doing was highly illegal and painful. Almost instantly, he saw that Malfoy was indeed regretful for what he had done and the sharp stab of fear in his mind had barely faded even though she was already being healed. Harry even caught a glimpse of what could have been grudging respect for the bookish Gryffindor and that, more than anything, was what made him slow his attack. It seemed that there was more to the sly Slytherin than it appeared. As he traversed Malfoy’s mind, he skimmed over a portion of his mind that was heavily saturated with intense emotions such as confusion, anger, sadness, and determination. Curious, he slowed even more, but decided to respect the other boy’s privacy enough not to peek into something that may be too painful or embarrassing.   
  
    He retreated from Malfoy's mind a good deal gentler than he had entered and he felt a twinge of shame when he saw the blond on his knees clutching his head in pain. He himself had been in that position at Snape's hands too many times for his comfort. _He’s not a Death Eater,_ he reminded himself viciously, recalling the brief Legilimency he had performed on the blond not long ago that revealed that Malfoy was actually neutral even though he was throwing his lot in with the Light for the duration of this war. His anger drained out of him and his shoulders slumped. How could he have done that, even to Malfoy? Few people deserved that kind of mental rape, and Malfoy certainly wasn't one of them, even before he had cast his loyalty to the Light.   
  
    "I believe him," Harry said quietly, and turned away. He could sense Ron gaping after him disbelievingly, but luckily the redhead remained silent. He strode to the potion's cupboard and extracted a specific vial before returning to Malfoy's side and bending to push it into his hands. "Here. It'll stop the pain. Sorry." He added sincerely before returning to his bed without another word. Ron handed him his robes and Harry quickly wrapped his cloak around his shoulders, hiding his wings beneath the thick cloth.  Madame Pomfrey finished up with Hermione only seconds later.  
      
    "She will be fine," she said. "Quite a few bumps and bruises that have already been treated and a broken ankle that has been set to heal with some Skele-Gro. I've put her in a healing sleep to work off her shock, and she should be completely fine by tomorrow night." Harry and Ron let out a sigh of relief, Malfoy forgotten, and they shared a quick grin. The medi-witch wasn't finished, however, and she approached Harry before he could escape. "Now then, what happened to you, Mr. Potter? A human transfiguration, is it? Quite an advanced piece of magic, and perfectly performed, I might add. I haven't seen a transformation so detailed and realistic in many years; since Professor McGonagall's sixth year, in fact. I suppose you've had some difficulty reversing it?"  
  
    "Er, n-no..." Harry stammered, but before he could explain, the door to the Infirmary opened yet again. Dumbledore was at Harry's side almost instantly, concern and relief startlingly clear in his clear blue eyes before he turned away to glance over the other occupants of the room. Snape swept in behind the Headmaster, scowling darkly. Harry felt a sinking in his stomach and from the absolute lack of expression on Malfoy's face, he was somewhat worried as well.  
  
    "Will someone please explain what happened?" Dumbledore asked politely, making the students wince at it broke the silence like a whip. Harry spoke first.  
  
    "Er, well, I had gone up to the Astronomy Tower to practice my defense spells. Malfoy came up soon after that and started badgering me about... certain issues, and Hermione and Ron must have followed me up, too, because they came in during my row with Malfoy. Hermione was behind me, close to the wall, and when I dodged a disarming spell, it hit her. She fell over the edge and I jumped after her, and, well..." He shrugged and gestured futilely at the shapeless lumps beneath his cloak. Snape looked like he was about to explode, his dark eyes burning holes into Harry's skull.  
  
    "I understand." Surprisingly, it was Madame Pomfrey that spoke, causing several heads to jerk over to her in surprise and alarm. "I'm certain human transfiguration was the first thing that came to your mind on short notice, Mr. Potter, but you shouldn't have attempted something so advanced. Your magic must be too drained to return it to rights. Here, I'll just remove them for you, shall I?"  
  
    "No!" The shout came from both Harry and Snape, much to everyone's surprise. Harry ignored them.  
  
    "It's not a transfiguration," Harry mumbled into the silence. "They're real. They... grew out of me."  
  
    "You're a Guardian. A Fallen." Ron said slowly, comprehension dawning in his eyes. The pieces were falling into place. Suddenly, his expression darkened. "Of course," he muttered bitterly. "Of course it had to happen to you. Guardians haven't been around for centuries and suddenly you just wake up one day and you're one of the most powerful beings in the world. It shouldn't even be bloody _possible!_ Why does everything have to happen to you? I'm bloody _sick_ of it!" With that, he stormed out of the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry to stare after him in despair.  

    Memories of Ron’s burning jealousy and thick-headedness in the past suddenly flowed to the front of his mind; the pain of Ron’s silence during the hours of the Tournement when he needed him the most was still painful. _I thought he had gotten over his jealousy!_ Harry thought, anguished at the thought of losing his friend again. He remembered Ron’s flippant words weeks ago: “ _I had always wanted to be a Fallen._ ” Tears suddenly prickled at the corners of Harry's eyes and he rubbed his clenched fists against them, refusing to let them fall.  
  
    "I bloody knew it." He muttered brokenly. He _knew_ this freakish situation would just tear them all apart. There was only so much Ron could take, so much that anyone could take. He flinched when a narrow, wrinkled hand settled on his shoulder.  
  
    "Don't worry, my, boy, I'm sure he'll come around; he always has in the past. It's a shock to all of us, but it's nothing to be ashamed of. Quite the opposite in fact." Harry remained silent, his brilliant eyes downcast.   
  
    "Y-you mean, they're real?" Madame Pomfrey said in a flustered manner. If the situation wasn't so depressing, Harry would have laughed at seeing the normally professional nurse lose her cool. As it was, he flinched when she turned on him, hands on her hips. "Mr. Potter! You underwent a transformation of this magnitude without my supervision? You could have died without competent medical help-"  
  
    "But I did!" Harry protested. "Have medical help, I mean. Professor Snape was there while I went through the change, and he helped me a lot." As he was turned away from the Potions Master, he missed the surprise that flitted across the man's face before it went completely blank.   
  
    "Nevertheless, I'm afraid that I must have a look at you," she said briskly, brushing off any protests. Eventually, face burning with embarrassment, Harry slid off his cloak. He knew Snape was glancing at him sharply, eyes narrowed when he saw that the skin on Harry's back was flawless and smooth. It seemed as though all of his secrets were being unraveled before his eyes, all of his meticulous plans and protections falling away like so much dust. He felt naked, exposed, and he didn't like it one whit. There was no way that he was going to air out the truth of his home life now, of all times, even if he had to _Obliviate_ Snape to keep it secret.  
  
    "I'm glad you are safe, my boy," Dumbledore said, most likely to distract Harry from the spells, potions, and creams Poppy was throwing at him. "It was truly a courageous thing for you to do, and it showed your great loyalty and love for your friends." His eyes regained some of their familiar twinkle. "And, I must say, your wings are quite stunning. I haven't seen something quite so beautiful in many years." Harry blushed hotly at being called "beautiful", but he managed a weak smile for the old wizard.   
  
    "May I touch?" Pomfrey asked politely and Harry nodded. The next moment, he was wincing at the feel of Pomfrey grasping his left wing gently, feeling along the bone and checking the health of the feathers.  
  
    "Extend your left wing, please," she said. Harry concentrated and complied, feeling a bit like a prize horse when she began measuring and making notes. He was completely miserable. This was part of what he had been avoiding when he hid the wings from everyone.  

"This is absolutely fascinating! The bones of his body have become lighter and stronger while maintaining their shape and composition. Several new muscles have grown in his back to help facilitate the movement of both wings. However," she looked sternly at Harry at this point, "they are very weak still. The new muscles of his wings are also weak and underdeveloped, obviously a result of no exercise or use. I'm surprised they simply didn't tear when you pulled that stunt off the Astronomy tower. As it is, many of your muscles are strained and must not be used until they heal. Retract your wings, if you will, Mr. Potter."  
  
    Flushed a bit with shame, Harry did as he was told. "May I touch the nibs?" was her next question. "The bumps on your back." She elaborated at his look of confusion. He nodded. She gently stroked her fingers up and down the small nibs, making observations to her quill, which was spelled to write what she said. "The skin is thick and almost leathery here, no doubt to protect the wings encased inside, but the skin at the base blends back into his normal skin. The opening at the top of each nib is most likely meant to ease the emergence of the wings and prevent bleeding each time they- Harry, dear, what's wrong?"  
  
    A deep shudder was shivering through Harry's frame and he was shying away from her touch, shoulders hunched and fingers grasping the edge of the bed in a white-knuckled grip. A deep red flush covered his cheeks and traveled up to his ears. "Er, t-they're really... s-sensitive. You know..." He stuttered, eyes trained on the floor in mortification. Understanding dawned on the medi-witch's face and she cleared her throat with a light blush.  
  
    "Please note that the nibs and surrounding area are erogenous zones and especially sensitive to touch," she said, slightly flustered. "I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't know..."  
  
    "It's alright, I didn't know either," he hastily reassured her, looking anywhere that wasn't her eyes or Malfoy. He was horrified that such a discovery had to made in front of _anyone,_ much less the Headmaster and the two most hated Slytherins in school. "They don't react that way to anything else..."  
  
    "Not to worry, it's a perfectly natural response." She really wasn't helping the situation at all. "Well, I think I'm done here. You seem perfectly healthy, Mr. Potter, but I would suggest coming in for monthly check-ups to make sure nothing is amiss. We don't really know that much about Guardians, after all." Harry nodded and the witch bustled back over to Hermione's bed.  
  
    "Are we sure that's what I am?" Harry asked Dumbledore. "Is there some way to make sure?"  
  
    "From what we can gather, it is the most viable possibility," the aged Headmaster replied. "Though, I suppose I can perform the spell to measure your magical ability if you wish. It will take but a moment." Harry nodded. Dumbledore pointed his wand at Harry and murmured a string of Latin words that Harry couldn't catch. Suddenly, a tingly feeling washed over Harry's body as if he had been out in the freezing cold for hours and suddenly stepped in front of a fire. Looking down at himself for any sign of the aura that would measure his abilities, Harry gasped in dismay when a light the color of the deepest night began seeping from his skin, sweeping around him like a thundercloud. Harry stared, feeling sick to his stomach. _Black?_   
  
    "Bloody hell!" Harry's head jerked up at Malfoy's quiet curse. His eyes were wide and bright as he stared at Harry with an expression that could only be awe. Snape looked completely gobsmacked and even Dumbledore had an air of faint surprise. Harry looked back down, wondering if Voldemort was the cause of this.  
  
    "Well, that's certainly somewhat surprising," the Headmaster understated. "Though not unwelcome, surely. You must understand, Harry, that this spell rates magical power by color; it has nothing to do with your personality or intentions. White, being the absence of all color, represents no magical energy. Black, on the other hand, is the combination of all colors in the spectrum, and thus is very powerful indeed. I myself am a rather modest blue. Mages are a shade darker than what I achieved and any darker than that has not been recorded since Merlin’s time. As you can see, however, you are not completely black; there is still a sliver or two of navy blue. I would say that you are definitely powerful enough to become a Guardian, Harry."

* * *

    Harry left the Hospital Wing just before curfew, having spent the hours after the teachers left at Hermione's bedside. Madame Pomfrey had kept him company, instructing him on various exercises and stretches he could do to strengthen the muscles of his back and wings. She demanded that he practice them at least once a day for half an hour to build the muscles as soon as possible. Frankly, Harry was rather sick of the topic already. He didn't want to be a Guardian and he didn't want to be as powerful as Dumbledore claimed. He certainly hadn't asked for it. He just wanted... to be Harry. Because of this, Malfoy was in a snit, Ron hated him again, and Hermione was unconscious in the Hospital Wing with a broken ankle. How much worse could it get?  
  
    "Ah, Mr. Potter, just the one I wanted to see. Follow me."  
  
    Harry sighed. Of course, Snape could always make things worse. The man could certainly be tolerable at times, but Harry wasn't about to fool himself into thinking this meant that Snape would treat him any different in public. They all had images to keep up, after all. Harry followed the spy into his classroom and back to his office, which had shelves wall-to-wall filled to the brim with both books and nasty potions ingredients. _Or maybe former students,_ Harry thought jokingly to himself. He settled himself in the hard wooden chair in front of Snape's simple but grand desk, but Snape remained standing over him.  
  
    "Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you completely and utterly insane?" He asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. "Do you possess any grey matter at all beneath that scruffy mop of yours? Do you have no regard at all for the sanity and well-being of those around you?" Harry furrowed his brow, staring narrowly up at his professor. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Potion's Master held up a hand in protest. "What I am speaking of, Potter, is your total lack of self-preservation. Do you know what would have happened if you had been unable to let your wings emerge at the crucial moment? If you had been unable to catch Ms. Granger in time? If you had _died_? You are not immortal, Potter, no matter how much it pleases you to think so, and there is only so much magic can do."  
  
    Harry remained silent, taking in Snape's words and knowing they were true - as he had run through the same scenarios in his mind over and over again at Hermione's bedside - but inwardly he was trying not to smile. If he was not mistaken, Snape was berating him for risking his life and for nearly dying in the process. Almost like he... cared.   

     "She would have died if I hadn't acted, sir. I know I've never flown before, but I just knew that I could do it. So I did."   

    "Merlin save us all from reckless Gryffindors," Snape snarled to himself, beginning to pace. He stopped abruptly. "Very well. Since you have proven time and time again that you lack the necessary foresight to _practice_  something new before you attempt it in life or death situations, I will assist you." Harry gaped. 

    "W-what? Assist me in doing what?" 

    "In gaining control of your new abilities, of course, Potter," Snape said irritably, not seeming the least bit excited about the prospect. "The Headmaster has already suggested as much since I am the only member of the Order available with sufficient knowledge and expertise to handle anything that may arise. I will expect you to join me every Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday evening at the Room of Requirement for your lessons starting next week. Seven o'clock sharp, mind. Now, you may leave." Harry was ushered from the office still frozen in disbelief.  _What in Merlin's name just happened?_  
  
    By the time he got to Gryffindor Tower, he had resolved not to think about it anymore. Just as he had as a child sitting in the darkness of his cupboard, he ceased wondering why people did what they did. Why Uncle Vernon found it necessary to beat him regularly for things he didn't do. Why his aunt and uncle loved Dudley more than him. Why his parents had died and left him alone. Why Snape continued to hold a grudge against his father and yet continued to help him at every turn. 

            He navigated the Common Room easily enough and retreated up to his dorm room, which was thankfully empty. Ron was nowhere to be found, which Harry felt inexplicably glad for. Feeling weak and sore, he quickly clambered into bed and pulled the curtains, not even bothering to change out of his clothes. He hugged his legs to his chest in the center of his bed and buried his face knees. The darkness did not feel warm and comforting as it normally did. It didn’t even feel frightening. It felt as though it was just as hollow and tired as he was.   

            “I’m sick of this.” He murmured, unheard. He fell into a light and restless sleep plagued by vague dreams and all-consuming loneliness. 

            When he woke the next morning, he could almost convince himself that it was a dream, despite knowing that it would never work. It hadn’t for the past fifteen years. Reluctantly, he got up and pulled his curtains aside. Pale light filtered through the window, indicating that it was nearly morning and illuminating the rumpled but empty covers of Ron’s bed. Harry changed into fresh clothes and stole into the bathroom for a quick shower before heading down to the Common Room. It was cold and empty, which only emphasized the fact that Hermione would normally be down here studying with a warm fire blazing in the fireplace.  

            Shaking his head to dispel such thoughts, Harry waved his hand at the fireplace and concentrated until a crack of fire announced his success at the second wandless and wordless spell that he had ever performed. Unlike before the discovery of his… condition, this didn’t incite any feeling of accomplishment or success. He could only think of Ron’s pale fury and Hermione’s shocked expression. He was so deep in his thoughts as he stared into the fire that he didn’t hear the portrait open behind him.  

           “Harry?” 

The slender wizard froze momentarily at Ron’s voice before his shoulders slumped and he turned around. 

“What, Ron? Look, I don’t really have the time or strength to deal with your petty jealous funks right now, alright? I’m tired of having to explain myself to you every time something stupid happens to me.” He paused, taking a moment to glance over at his friend. “What happened to you, anyway?” Ron’s face was flushed with exertion and he was panting lightly, sweat shining on his temples. His mouth was also open in an expression of dumb confusion. 

“I went to work off some stuff in the Room,” he said, his brows lowering. “And what d’you mean my ‘petty jealous funks’? I’m not jealous of you!”  

It was Harry’s turn to stare. “What? I thought- That’s why you left, right? You said you were sick of everything happening to me.” 

“I _am_ sick of it!” Ron exclaimed, throwing his arms out in frustration. “I’m bloody pissed off about it! You _never_ get a break! If you’re not getting a bloody vision from You-Know-Who, you’re getting weird power surges and when _that’s_ not happening, someone’s trying to kill you! I don’t know how you can stand it.” 

“Wait, you were mad because…” Harry trailed off, feeling a strange, powerful warm feeling swelling in his chest, banishing the cold emptiness that had prevailed before. His friend snorted. 

“Of course, mate, give me a little bit of credit. I thought we had worked this out already; I know I was a bit of a prat before, but I’ve gotten over that. I know how hard everything is for you and I’d have to be really thick if I couldn’t see the truth about being famous and rich by now… You know I’ll stand by you to the end.” 

Harry lowered his head, letting his fringe shield his face. He suddenly felt incredibly stupid. Of course his friends were there for him; they always would be, just as they had promised. Why couldn’t he just trust them at their word for once? A hot prickling began at the corner of his eyes and he decided that he had been under entirely too much stress lately.  

“Hey, you alright?” Ron’s voice was closer and a great deal softer than Harry had expected. In previous years he may have overlooked Harry’s emotion or awkwardly pretended that it didn’t exist rather than actually confront it. Uncertainty was buried in his voice, still, and Harry took a deep breath to steady his emotions. He didn’t want Ron to think he was poncey, after all. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He winced as his voice croaked and Ron broke out in a small grin. 

“We’re alright then?” 

“Yeah, we’re fine. Sorry for being such a thick prat.” 

“Don’t worry, I’m used to it by now.” 

Harry grinned and took a swipe at his friend, feeling lighter than he had in ages. He felt as if he had been drifting away from his friends for far too long and was just coming home.  

 

* * *

“So, how d’you feel about it?” 

Harry shrugged, looking down at where his hand grasped Hermione’s. Nearly a week had passed since the fateful fall from the Astronomy Tower – which had just been passed off as a bad fall on the way to Hagrid’s cabin for everyone else – and Hermione was just returning to Gryffindor Tower. Her recovery had been slowed by her descent into shock, but once she had awoken her mind had proven to be just as sharp as always. They had barely even mentioned the fall before she guessed that Harry was a Fallen. 

“ _It’s quite obvious, once you think about it,”_ she had said, shrugging her shoulders. _“Something powerful had happened during You-Know-Who’s ritual, and, well… it’s Harry.”_ Ron had nodded in agreement at that, as if that explained everything. _It’s Harry._ Of course freakish things happened to him. He was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, after all. 

“I’m alright,” Harry said now in response to her question. He helped her over a trick step on the stairs. “I don’t like it, of course, but if it will help…” He shrugged his shoulders vaguely, not going into any more detail. His friends didn’t know about the Prophecy. He had decided not to tell them, frightened of their reactions and what it meant for them if they continued to be his friends. He knew that they wouldn’t leave him, after all. They knew that he planned on joining the Order as soon as he was able, but they didn’t suspect that he was destined to take on a much larger role than a simple Order member in this war. 

“I know how you feel about things like this, Harry,” she said, brushing back a lock of frizzy brown hair to look him earnestly in the face.  “You know that we’ll always stand by you, no matter what, right? You will always be our friend. Just Harry. Anything else just adds to who you are. It doesn’t change you or what we feel about you.” Ron was nodding in agreement, even though he seemed slightly distracted by his arm clasped around Hermione’s waist as they reached the top of the stairs. Harry nodded in response. 

“I know, and I can’t thank you enough. I’ll always stand by you too.” 

“As if we could stop you,” she teased, smiling warmly. Harry grinned back with his usual lopsided smile; one that they hadn’t seen in quite some time. It seemed that Harry had few reasons to smile like that anymore when he wasn’t with Remus. “Still,” she continued, gently insistent, “You seem to be dealing with the whole thing pretty well.” 

“It’s getting a bit easier,” Harry admitted reluctantly. He didn’t really like to talk about his newest development with his friends, despite the clear support they showed. He could understand that becoming a Fallen was a good thing in the way that it related to the war (and especially since he was able to use it to save Hermione), but a large portion of his brain trained by the Dursley’s continued to whisper that it was a freakish and unnatural thing. He usually didn’t try to think about it much. Still, he indulged in his friend’s curiosity once in a while, knowing that they only wanted the best for him. 

“I still don’t understand why Malfoy was let in on all of this,” Ron grumbled. “We can’t trust that ferret as far as we can throw him. I know _you_ trust him, Harry, but you know what his past is like. How can we be sure that he’s not being controlled or watched by his father or other Death Eaters?” 

Harry shook his head. Ron had brought this subject up several times a day since Hermione’s fall. Harry thought that some part of his friend felt deeply hurt or offended that their childhood rival had found out something so important about his friend first, but he also knew that Ron’s fierce protective streak had only grown broader since the events after fifth year. He was able to accept Harry’s word about Malfoy’s loyalty on the surface, but that didn’t stop him from distrusting the blond and suggesting that Harry avoid him. Then again, Harry could also be stubborn when he wanted to be, and he hadn’t let up on that point one bit. He wasn’t entirely sure why, himself, but he just knew that there was something important about the blond Slytherin. He just couldn’t figure out what. 

“Let’s not talk about this now, Ron,” he said wearily, helping Hermione through the portrait hole. “I don’t really know why I trust him; I just do. My instincts aren’t usually wrong about things like this.” 

“Harry’s right. You never know Ron, Malfoy might have changed.” Hermione spoke up in Malfoy’s defense, much to both their surprise. The two wizards gaped at her, but she didn’t explain further, only glancing over at Harry with a mysteriously knowing expression. Harry frowned, his brow furrowed, and not for the first time he wondered just what she knew.  

He didn’t have any time to wonder, however, as shouts of warning and surprise rose up from any students near the fireplace. Harry instantly stiffened and stepped protectively in front of his friends, drawing his wand and dropping into a battle stance automatically as he did so. The commotion soon proved to be a false alarm, however, as two very familiar red heads emerged from the green flames, folding their tall frames into mocking bows at the whistles and calls of recognition that soon followed. 

“Blimey, Harry, tense are you?” Ron murmured from behind him, but when the Boy-Who-Lived turned he noticed that Ron was slipping his own wand surreptitiously back into his sleeve. He didn’t answer. They both knew that he had plenty of reasons to be “tense”. 

“Hiya, Harry!” Two simultaneous voices sounded from behind him and Harry turned with a genuine crooked grin. Fred and George had always been some of the few people who could always bring such a smile to his face at almost all times. 

“Alright, you two?”  

“Alright, Harry! Although I suppose we can’t say the same about our darling soon-to-be-sister-in-law, can we? Too busy watching something else to be watching where you were stepping, eh?” Fred said, waggling his eyebrows in Hermione’s direction. A blush infused her cheeks, but her eyebrow twitched dangerously.  

“She’s fine! Just fine,” Ron broke in before she could say anything. He had a blush of his own, but he seemed to be more worried about Hermione than the twins at the moment as he quickly led her over to an empty seat. The Common Room was slowly filling once more as news of the Weasley twin’s arrival spread through the tower and Harry took a seat in their normal place in front of the fire.   

“What are you two doing here?” He asked, amused. 

“Not stopping by for a cuppa, that’s for sure,” Ron snorted. “It was mum’s idea. She’s always been up in a snit because they left Hogwarts early and she’s made them come back to take their NEWTs. Don’t know how she convinced McGonagall to take them back, though.” 

“Who _wouldn’t_ want to take us back, we ask you?” George exclaimed. “She was _dying_ to take us back.” 

“And _we_ were the ones to decide to come back, Ronniekins,” Fred corrected with his nose in the air. “We realized that completing our education and receiving our NEWTs could only help us in our chosen vocation.” 

“And how _is_ the business going?” Harry interrupted curiously. He had heard from the twins very little during the summer, as he was either in training or in Order meetings whenever they visited, but he had heard that Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes had gotten off to a somewhat rocky start. They had managed to rent out a shop in Diagon Alley with the help of Harry’s winnings, but they had run into a bit of trouble trying to make enough of a profit to keep the store. Last Harry had heard, they were still struggling. 

“Booming!” George responded with a grin. 

“Ever since that prat brother of ours came crawling back after Fudge got sacked, we’ve ‘acquired’ his services-“ 

“-handling the whole ‘business’ end of the business, you understand-“ 

“-and he’s somehow managed to turn a prettier profit than we had before. Customers are pouring in off the streets!” 

“That doesn’t mean we’re going to stop testing experimental products on him, of course.” George added smugly. “He’s still got a lot to make up for and he knows it.” 

“Percy’s alright, then?” Harry asked uncomfortably, knowing that they were partially angry at their brother because of the way Percy had treated Harry. Harry himself hadn’t held much of a grudge against Percy as he was used to people judging and fearing him because they didn’t know him, but it had worried him to see the loving family torn apart over a wayward member.  

“Yeah, he’s alright, I suppose,” Ron grumbled, not sounding too happy about the fact. It had taken him longer than all the rest of the siblings to accept Percy back into the fold, but not even he could deny that it was good to have his brother back. Besides, they were all too aware of how much they needed to stay together and accept as many willing members into the Light side as possible. Percy, with his intimate knowledge of the Ministry and their tactics, was undeniably helpful to the Order even if he wasn’t an official member yet. In the meantime, he certainly seemed to have exerted some sort of influence over the twins, even if they didn’t know it. They were back to take their NEWTs, after all. 

 They continued to talk, relaxing and catching up as they hadn’t been able to do for a long time. In fact, Harry had enjoyed himself so much that he had lost track of time until Hermione suddenly hissed his name and poked him in the side while Ron was arguing with his brothers over the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He started, giving her a mock annoyed glance as he rubbed his side.  

 "What was that for?” 

 “Harry, it’s time!” she whispered, nodding her head at the large clock over the fireplace. Instantly, Harry’s good mood deflated and he groaned. It was Tuesday. Twenty minutes to seven. Snape. 

 “Bollocks,” he grumbled. She slapped him in the arm. 

 “Oh, honestly Harry, grow up! He won’t kill you.” 

 “Doesn’t stop him from wanting to,” he interjected under his breath. 

 “-And if you’d just hurry up and get there on time, he won’t have anything to criticize you for.” 

 “I know, I know,” Harry said, standing up and stretching with a groan. Unsurprisingly, his new back muscles were still sore after he had stupidly tried to fly off of the Astronomy Tower, but he doubted that Snape would go easy on him for that. He gave his friends a quick goodbye – saying he had detention with Snape – and quickly made his way out of Gryffindor Tower. By the time he had gotten to the seventh floor and had paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, he was panting and two minutes late. He opened the door, not daring to take the time to recover.  

 The room was quite large and mostly bare, with a small table flanked by armchairs in front of a fireplace on the left side and a padded area on the right side. Snape was sitting in an armchair, legs crossed and fingers steepled contemplatively before him as he stared into the low flames. He spoke without looking up. 

 “I expect this to be the last time that you are late to our lessons, Mr. Potter. My time is valuable and not to be wasted by trivial excuses. Excuses suggest that you find that something else is more important than these lessons, and if you believe that then no doubt we will soon be seeing an end to our interactions. If you recall, we have gone through this once before, with less than favorable results. Perhaps we can both escape alive from this encounter.” Harry stood frozen at the doorway, jaw clenched at the obvious reference of his role in Sirius’ death. The Potions Master’s low, silky tone became sharper. 

 “Well? Don’t stand there gaping like a fool, move onto the padded area. We will begin with wing control.” He stood smoothly from his chair and moved to follow Harry onto the padded floor. Harry stood stiffly, knees slightly bent and eyes watchful as Snape took up his position in front of him. He was wary of the cold man, unsure exactly where they stood in their relationship since Snape was often mercurial in the way that he treated Harry. Even now, despite the malicious jab at Sirius’ death earlier, his face was expressionless, devoid of any hatred or even dislike towards Harry at the moment. 

 “If you’ll remove your shirt, Potter, we can get started. I don’t particularly wish to have to mend any clothing because of our exercises.” Harry tensed but didn’t see any way to protest so he slowly followed Snape’s orders, removing his school robes, sweater, and white oxford shirt. Soon he was standing in front of the Potions Master in just his black slacks and shoes. He had performed the glamour charm before coming despite knowing that Snape knew and he saw how it rankled the man by the way his black eyes narrowed. Surprisingly, he didn’t say anything. 

 “We both know that this isn’t the ideal situation, Potter.” He began, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “I don’t like you and you don’t like me, but I would hope that we can both admit that this situation is bigger than the both of us. I propose that we maintain a sort of… peaceful neutrality while in this room. A truce, if you will. Are you amenable?” 

 Harry regarded the man that had made his life miserable for the past five years. He had done everything in his power to belittle Harry, his father, and his abilities, but Harry couldn’t ignore the fact that Snape had also taken every opportunity he could to protect Harry’s life. He had saved him from Quirrell’s curse in first year, had come after Harry when Sirius was loose in third year, and had hung around him insistently during fourth year to make sure he was safe. The truth was, if Snape didn’t continually provoke him, Harry thought that he wouldn’t actually mind Snape; after all, he didn’t hate him. Harry nodded firmly. 

 “Very well.” Snape’s eyes glittered. “We may begin. You should know by now that I will not mollycoddle my students, Potter, and that will not change here. I will push you hard, and you must obey my orders quickly and without complaint if you truly want to master this. A small amount of trust in me would not be remiss here.” 

 “I do trust you,” Harry said before he could stop himself and was consternated to discover that it was true. At least to a small extent. Snape blinked, startled, but otherwise didn’t respond.  

 “Out with your wings, Potter!” He ordered suddenly. Harry concentrated on his desire to unsheath the appendages and felt almost no pain when they emerged seconds later.  

 “Abysmally slow. You must be prepared at any moment for flight and in the heat of a battle you won’t have time to concentrate.” Snape’s sneer was faint but Harry flushed with embarrassment all the same. “Again.”  

 Snape made him run through Madame Pomfrey’s suggested exercises and stretches for nearly an hour, calmly rapping out orders like “Lift the left one higher,” “Faster,” or “Stretch it more, Potter!” By the end, Harry was exhausted, his unused muscles aching and cramping terribly. When Snape finally ended the session, he collapsed to the floor and rolled on his back, gasping. Still, he didn’t complain. He knew it would benefit him in the end. 

 “Get up, Potter,” Snape said, a hint of smugness in his tone. This time Harry did groan, reluctantly heaving himself to his feet and sending a glare at his professor. He blinked in surprise, however, when he saw Snape striding over to a padded table by the fireplace that hadn’t been there before.  

 “Professor?” Harry asked uncertainly when Snape beckoned him over.  

 “Hurry up, we don’t have all day.” He said impatiently. Harry obeyed. “Lie down.” When Harry gaped at him in disbelief, he rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Potter, spare me. I am only going to say this once, so listen carefully: not only are whiny adolescent children supremely unattractive, I am firmly heterosexual. It’s just a massage. It is vitally important for your new muscles to be massaged after each session to prevent any negative results. It helps them heal faster, become stronger, and more flexible. Now lie down now before I leave you to a night of painful cramping.” 

 Harry quickly obeyed, lying tensely on his stomach. He could practically feel Snape’s exasperation. “ _Relax_ , Potter,” he ordered again, “this will be a complete waste of time otherwise.” Harry tried to relax, he really did, but it was nearly impossible. He stiffened even more when he felt Snape’s long, slender fingers covered with warm oil pressing firmly into his back. No one had ever touched him like this before. 

 “I heard that you undertook some training over the summer, Potter,” Snape suddenly said after several tense seconds. “Tell me what you studied.”  

 “Er… Moody trained me in Auror tactics, defense, and stealth. Remus taught me offensive and defensive spells using transfiguration, charms, and defense. I studied history on my own.” 

 “History?” 

 “Dark Arts history. Dark Lords, battles, and Vol- You-Know-Who especially,” Harry responded, acutely aware of how surreal this experience was. A conversation with Snape was strange enough in itself, but with Harry half-naked and being massaged? He could hardly wrap his head around the idea. 

 “Indeed?” He actually sounded somewhat interested. “Perhaps there is something useful in that mind of yours after all. When was the Dark Lord born?” He suddenly snapped. 

 “December 17, 1928,” Harry responded automatically. 

 “What year did he graduate from Hogwarts?”  

“1945.” 

 “What was his father’s name?” 

 “Tom Riddle.” 

 “What was one of the trademarks of his attacks during his first rise?” 

 “The use of Inferi.” 

 The question-and-answer session continued for several minutes and before he knew it, he was fully relaxed and nearly in a trance. Snape’s hands were moving slowly, his heels pressing and kneading firmly into his back and shoulders. So far, he had avoided the area around his nibs for obvious reasons, which Harry was indescribably grateful for. _That_ was an embarrassment that he couldn’t handle in front of Snape. 

 “In case you wondered, Potter, the reason why you are so exhausted is because of your insistence in keeping that ridiculous glamour on,” Snape said quietly after a long pause. His voice had a hard edge and Harry tensed slightly in response. “I expect that you will not insult me with such a deception again. Not only is it useless, but it is draining your energy and magic. I forbid you to apply it in this room.” Harry looked down, a trickle of shame worming into his heart.  

 “Y-yes sir,” he said quietly. With that, Snape stepped away from the table and, as if on cue, the glamour flickered and failed. Harry slowly sat up, swinging his legs over the edge and resting his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. He avoided his professor’s eyes as he slid off of the massage table and walked over to retrieve his shirt. 

 “Was it your uncle, Potter?” Harry stiffened despite Snape’s emotionless tone. 

 “I’m not going to talk about that, sir,” he said, his voice soft but firm. 

 “You cannot avoid it forever and you would be foolish to think that I would ignore it. The abuse of children is not tolerated in this world.” 

 “Thank you for the practice, Professor.” The Boy-Who-Lived responded as if he hadn’t spoken and Harry slipped on his shirt. Snape didn’t press. 

 “Do not expect it to be this easy for long, Potter. We will progress quickly and you _will_ keep up.” 

 “Yes sir.”  

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are Dursleys.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_

 “ _Avis!”_

 “ _Densaugeo!”_

 “ _Protego!”_ Snape snarled, slashing his wand downward violently. The teeth-enlargement spell Harry had learned from Malfoy bounced back, but Harry was already gone.  

 “ _Diffindo!”_ He whispered as he ran away from Snape’s barrage of spells, but Snape saw him and deflected the spell. The spy was incredibly fast and Harry was just barely keeping up. 

 “You will not win if you continue this way, Potter! Use your advantages _now_!” Snape growled. 

 Without thinking, Harry obeyed. Almost too quickly to follow, the large white wings burst from his back and he flapped them strongly once, catapulting him high over Snape’s head. He flipped once in midair and pulled the wings close to his body to allow him to land lightly behind the Potions Master. Almost as soon as his feet touched the ground a wordless spell was leaving his wand and Snape was tightly bound and frozen, leaving him glaring at his student, who was grinning with exhilaration. 

 “Oh, come on, Professor, give me a break!” Harry said, removing his charms when Snape indicated that the duel was over. “It took me nearly a week to get that move down!” 

 “Better, Potter,” Snape admitted reluctantly, though a minute twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Still, you were a bit too high and your landing was slow. Our next lesson will be on learning how to cast spells accurately in midair.” Harry just kept grinning, knowing that that was practically glowing praise from the dour man.  

 “Of course, Professor.”  

 “That’s enough for today. Remove your shirt.” Harry’s hands hesitated only briefly at the edge of his shirt, a remnant of the instinctual fear he had of revealing his scars, before he pulled it over his head and bundled it underneath his head as he laid on the massage table. His shirts and robes had been altered to allow for his wings – which had grown by nearly two feet across his wingspan as they became stronger – so that he wasn’t constantly taking off his shirt or tearing his clothes when he extended them. Madame Pomfrey had taught him the spell to create slits in the fabric and the glamour that hid them. 

 Harry let out a deep sigh as the Potions Masters hands began the now-familiar massage. It was mid-April, he pondered, well over two months since they had begun these lessons, and Harry had finally begun to appreciate the massages that Snape offered. The professor had never once made fun of Harry or his scars while they were in this room, and so he was able to fully relax much quicker than he had in the beginning. Snape had occasionally tried to push the issue of the abuse, but Harry quickly shut him out each time. And truthfully, there wasn’t much time to contemplate such things.  

 Voldemort was becoming much more active. More than once, Snape had had to leave in the middle of one of their lessons to answer the Dark Lord’s call and Harry had always waited anxiously in the Room of Requirement for Snape’s return, no matter how late he was. Snape had berated him fiercely for doing so the first time it had happened and he discovered that Harry hadn’t slept the entire night, but that didn’t stop Harry from waiting. Now, if Snape was well enough, he would return to the Room to continue the lesson over a bottle of mead. Otherwise, he would contact Harry through the Floo.  

 At first, Harry did this merely to find out what had happened since he didn’t dare open his link to the Dark Lord while Snape was there. As time passed, however, and the trust and rapport developed between student and professor, Harry found that he was mostly doing it to make sure that Snape was okay. It was a startling revelation, but not as uncomfortable as he thought it might be.  

 Harry let out a groan when Snape hit a particularly painful spot and the Potions Master became gentler in response. Almost instantly, Harry was nearly falling asleep again. Nearly two weeks into their training, Snape had discovered a numbing spell that he was able to place on Harry’s nibs and the surrounding area to dull the sensation there. And so, as he massaged, Harry felt a comforting pressure rather than an arousing tingle. He knew that he would never let anyone but Snape touch him in this way, however, since he couldn’t imagine anyone finding him attractive enough to _want_ to touch him. Especially with his scars.  

 Harry’s lazy contemplation was interrupted by Snape’s voice. “Potter.” He said, but his voice was different. It wasn’t biting or hateful like in class, nor was it emotionless or sarcastic as it was in lessons. It was quiet, gentle, hypnotizing. 

 “Hm?” Harry mumbled into his shirt, eyes closed. A long finger was tracing a thick band of scar tissue just under his shoulder blade. 

 “What happened here?” Unlike previous times when Snape’s questions ventured into such dangerous territory, Harry didn’t feel particularly nervous or defensive. He was far too comfortable for that. Almost strangely so.  

 “Belt. Twins pranked my cousin before fourth year.” 

 “And I suppose your uncle wasn’t too happy about that.” Harry simply hummed in agreement, unconcerned. “Did he beat you often, Potter?” 

 Harry frowned slightly, his shoulders lifting in what could have been either a shrug or a defensive gesture. “Only when I did something wrong. Freakish. Can’t help that, though, I’ve always been a freak.” 

 “Is that what he told you?” 

 “Him and her. Aunt Petunia. Dudley, too, when he was old enough.” He let out a humorless huff of laughter that made the hair stand up on Snape’s arms. “Thought that my name was Freak Boy until I got to kindergarten. ‘Who’s Harry Potter?’ I was a stupid kid.” 

 “Does he still beat you, Potter?”  

 Harry shifted restlessly at that, anxiety penetrating the comfortable fog around his mind. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Are we done, P’fessor?” Snape leaned back, wiping his hands with a towel. 

 “Yes, Potter, we’re done for now. You may leave.” He didn’t look up as Harry drunkenly stood and put his shirt back on, leaving the tie undone as he pulled his robes over his head.  

 “Thanks, Professor.” He said, but Snape didn’t respond. The door to the Room of Requirement closed seconds later and still Snape didn’t move. Eventually, he straightened with a sigh and collapsed into the armchair in front of the fire. A bottle and snifter of brandy appeared at his elbow and he took a contemplative sip as he stared into the fire.  

 Severus Snape was not a good man. He was not nice, friendly, polite, or particularly trusting of anyone. He had seen and done terrible things, some willingly, some unwillingly. The abuse and torture of children was not something he was unfamiliar with in the Dark Lord’s service, but it was something that he had openly despised for his entire life after suffering at the hands of his own father. The abuse of women was only second to this hatred.  

 Child abuse was extremely rare in the wizarding world. Children were few (unless you were a Weasley) and precious to each parent for one reason or another. Whether it was for the securing of an heir – as with the Malfoys – or for the pure joy and fulfillment they added to an adult’s life, children were treasured. They may be pressured to succeed or exiled from the family if they were particularly shameful, but they were never physically injured or spitefully mistreated. Oftentimes, such a thing would be foolish to attempt anyway as the child’s innate accidental magic could lash out at the attacker. Snape wondered why Potter’s magic hadn’t acted to protect him. As he reflected on the awful severity of the thick scars littering the boy’s back, however, he rather thought that Potter’s magic had been drained simply keeping him alive and sane. 

 The thought burned him, turning his stomach and leaving a sour taste in his mouth. For once, it didn’t even matter that the child in question was Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding world, impudent Gryffindor, son of his childhood enemy. He was a student under his care, the son of Lily Evans, a frustratingly selfless person who only acted in defense. With a furious growl, Snape suddenly threw the glass of brandy into the fire, finding a vicious satisfaction in the shattered glass and resulting flare of fire. 

 No, no matter what Severus Snape was, he was not a stupid man. He realized that he had erred greatly in his perceptions and presumptions when it came to Harry Potter; a realization that had slowly wound its way into his mind some time during the summer and was abruptly driven home when he found Potter nearly delirious with pain in the Hospital Wing in the middle of the night. The only options available to him at this point, he thought, were to rectify his grave error in some way and to preserve his dignity in the process. And justice would have to be served at some point, of course.  

 Dumbledore did not know about these secret lessons he was giving Potter. Or, at least, Snape hadn’t told him and it was meant to be a secret, but he had come to learn over the years that it was impossible to keep anything from the old man. It was one of the reasons that he had stupidly agreed to Potter’s plea not to tell anyone, since Snape couldn’t be sure if Dumbledore _hadn’t_ known about the abuse (same reason harry kept quiet). If he had, and yet had done nothing… Snape didn’t want to think about that. He had thought it best to keep it quiet, but he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of that decision. Surely he couldn’t handle this situation alone, not with everything else going on and the results of the inevitable confrontation that needed to be had with Potter. The boy obviously had emotional and psychological scars from the abuse and Snape was sure that he wouldn’t be able to deal with that, even if he did know how.  

 Maybe he could get that mangy werewolf to take care of that part of it. He had always been the… _sensitive_ type.  

 The spy sighed. Another snifter of brandy appeared on the table beside him and he resumed his contemplative pose. What little wine he had in his rooms was not quite so fine as this. Perhaps he could stay here until life returned to normal. 

 

* * *

 

    “I noticed that Snape wasn’t too hard on you yesterday, Harry,” Hermione said off-handedly the next morning on the way to class. “In fact, you seemed much more relaxed than usual when you came back last night.”

 Harry shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly in response. He wasn’t hiding the private lessons from them per se, but he only told them what happened in the vaguest sense. Considering that he couldn’t remember much of what happened after the practice, all he could really give them was a vague outline.

 So far, he and Snape hadn’t even really started working with his supposed newfound powers; instead, Snape insisted that he stretch his wings and exercise them for at least an hour every night after he set Harry to reading passages from obscure books about the Pennae. Harry was actually learning quite a bit of the legends, but it was yet to be determined just how much of it was fact or fiction. For example, the passage explaining that modern Gifts (such as the Sight, Animagus transformations, parseltongue, wizarding longevity, or elemental abilities) were remnants of the great power that all of the Fallen once had before mating with the humans seemed quite viable. On the other hand, the passages claiming that the Pennae were either pure creatures incapable of lying or evil demons with a thirst for blood were quickly dismissed. Harry was still able to tell lies easily enough and he hadn’t had any desire whatsoever to even _see_ blood, much less drink it.

 Suddenly, a hand reached out to grasp his arm tightly as they passed an alcove near the Potion’s classroom. Harry barely restrained himself from attacking when he realized it was Draco Malfoy, reminding himself that the blonde technically wasn’t their enemy anymore. In fact, ever since Hermione’s fall off of the Astronomy Tower, he had been avoiding Harry and his friends like the plague. Whenever he did happen to run across them, he either ignored them or managed to speak civilly before he made his escape.

 “What is it, Malfoy?” Harry asked, a bit of a hard edge to his neutral tone. He was still somewhat confused as how to act around the mercurial Slytherin. He knew that Malfoy was on the Light side and yet he doubted that that blond would appreciate any sort of extension of friendship. Their relationship was barely even a truce at the moment.

 “I need to talk to you, Potter.” Malfoy was saying, but his voice was tense with anxiety beneath the emotionless mask he tried to pull over it. Ron was watching the interaction with barely-concealed disgust but Hermione, surprisingly, was completely neutral. That, more than anything, was what made him agree.

 “Not now. Tonight at nine, Astronomy Tower,” Harry murmured in an undertone. Malfoy looked relieved, as if he had expected Harry to hex him or at the very least ignore him.

 “Fine. You come _alone_ , Potter, and I’ll do the same.” The hand on his arm tightened slightly but Harry drew it away nimbly.

 “Of course. See you later, Malfoy.” He answered smoothly. The blonde nodded once jerkily to his friends and turned, stalking through the halls until he vanished in the crowd.

 “Wonder what he’s up to,” Ron said suspiciously. “I’ll have your back tonight, Harry, just lend me the cloak-“

 “No, Ron, I gave him my word.” Harry cut him off. “I told him I’d be alone and I will be. Don’t worry; I can handle him even if he _does_ try something.”

 “I don’t think he will,” Hermione said cryptically, but didn’t elaborate further.

 That night, Harry slipped up to the Astronomy tower alone after making sure that Ron was busy with Hermione so that he wouldn’t be followed. He was ten minutes early, so he was surprised to open the door leading outside to find Malfoy standing at the low wall to the left. Harry paused, but Malfoy appeared not to have heard his entrance. The Slytherin was looking out over the grounds towards Hagrid’s hut where the half-giant was just leaving for his nightly patrol of the Forest with Fang and his trusty crossbow. There was a tightness to the corners of Malfoy’s eyes that Harry hadn’t noticed before, a solemn sort of melancholy that he hadn’t expected in the devil-may-care attitude the blonde always seemed to have.

 Harry looked closer, curious in spite of himself. Malfoy looked tired, worn, but there was also a dangerous strength in his body. The desperate strength of a creature fighting for every breath, but it was a power that hadn’t been there in years before. Harry suddenly noticed that the sun was setting over the Forbidden Forest directly behind Malfoy, highlighting his naturally blond hair to a burnished white-gold that was nearly breath-taking. His eyes were also lit to pools of molten silver in a way that the Boy-Who-Lived had never noticed before, and suddenly he understood why girls had fawned obsessively over Draco Malfoy.

 “See something you like, Potter?” Harry jumped guiltily, his eyes jerking up from where they were absently tracing the lean lines of his rival’s body to meet those captivating grey eyes that were currently staring at him in amusement. Inexplicably, a blush spread over Harry’s cheeks and he glanced away in embarrassment.

 “Of course not,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even. He winced when his voice cracked slightly at the end, frowning when he saw Malfoy’s smirk shift into a real grin for a split second.

 “Oh, it’s quite alright, Potter, I’m used to it. You must be as well, considering you’re not too bad yourself.” He ran his eyes up and down Harry’s slender frame pointedly and Harry’s blush increased. He rolled his eyes and snorted disbelievingly.

 “Right, Malfoy, glad you think so. The girls will be all over me now.” He approached the Slytherin and leaned against the wall next to him. He glanced over the edge to the dizzying drop below and shuddered, remembering the fall not two months ago. He averted his eyes back to Malfoy who was watching Harry’s face, his own expression blank.

 “Well, Malfoy? What did you need to talk to me so urgently about?”

 Malfoy’s expression instantly became grave. He cast a quick look around and drew his wand to cast a ward at the door of the tower. “I wanted to warn you, Potter. The Slytherins are planning something big against you and I doubt that it’s just a simple prank. I don’t know if their parents are putting them up to it or not, but you still need to watch out. We aren’t little kids anymore, Potter, and I don’t think that I can stop them anymore.” Harry raised an eyebrow in an unconscious imitation of Snape.

 “No? You, the Ice Prince of Slytherin, couldn’t keep your minions in line?”

 Malfoy glared. “I couldn’t expect _you_ to understand the nuances of Slytherin culture, Potter, and I don’t have the time to explain it to you. I was never their leader. Slytherins do not blindly follow anyone, nor do they do anything without considering all consequences first. They aren’t supposed to, anyway.” He added bitterly, seemingly to himself, and Harry understood that he was thinking of the Death Eaters.

 “But they used to listen to you and do what you said, to a certain extent,” Harry pressed, serious now. “What happened?” Malfoy hesitated, reluctant to say anything more.

 “There are… rumors going around that are smearing my name.” He finally admitted, turning away to stare out over the grounds again. “They don’t trust me as much as they used to. I wasn’t even let in on what they are planning, but I doubt that I would be able to stop it, even if I did know.”

 “Why are you telling me this, Malfoy?” Harry asked softly.

 “I’ve been slipped Veratiserum mixed with a love potion, Potter. I have no choice. Will you marry me?” Malfoy quipped, deadpan. Harry nearly choked in surprise, trying unsuccessfully to hold back a burst of melodic laughter. He quickly got a hold of himself.

 “I’m serious, Malfoy,” he insisted, a small smile still playing about his lips. Malfoy shrugged, his own smirk fading.

 “We’re supposed to be allies now, if I understand correctly,” the Slytherin pointed out. “I’m trying to look out for my teammates so I don’t get slaughtered in the final game. It’s all about tactics, really.”

 “Is it?” Harry murmured, stepping closer to the other boy on a whim. He looked up into Malfoy’s eyes, not nearly as disturbed as he thought he would at the fact that he _needed_ to look up. “Is that _really_ all you’re after, Malfoy? Because I’ve got a feeling that you’ve got your eye on something else, too.”

 Harry felt his heart rate pick up slightly as Malfoy’s distinctive silver eyes darkened, the pupils dilating with emotion. Before the blonde could respond, however, warmth flaring against Harry’s thigh distracted him. He blinked in surprise and stepped back, hastily casting _Tempus_ to check the time. Dumbledore always activated the medallion in his pocket whenever there was an Order meeting he was to attend, but this one hadn’t been planned. Worry bloomed in his mind and he barely noticed when Malfoy took a step back as well, his hand pressing unobtrusively to his chest and his mouth tightening.

 “I have to go,” Harry said abruptly, already turning to leave. “I’ve got to get back before Hermione explodes. Thanks for the warning, Malfoy. We’ll talk again soon.”

 “It will be far too soon for my liking, Potter,” Malfoy sneered as if nothing had happened. Harry rolled his eyes as he descended the staircase at a run and burst out into the hallway. He made it Dumbledore’s office in record time, blurting out the password once he was in sight of the gargoyle and catching his breath on the moving stairs. Before he even opened the door, he heard angry voices reverberating from the office. Something familiar about those voices made his blood run cold, but he opened the door despite the feeling that what he was hearing was, indeed, real. When he saw who was inside, he wish he never had.

 “-you had no right to take us from our home! This whole business is your fault, anyway! Worthless _freaks_ , the lot of you!” Vernon was bellowing right in Dumbledore’s calm face, even though it was clear that he was being held back by some sort of spell. Aunt Petunia was on a transfigured couch in front of the fireplace, unconscious. It was Dudley, however, who caught sight of Harry emerging from the doorway first.

 “It’s him! Dad, it’s _him_!” He squealed, pointing a stubby finger in Harry’s direction. Harry was frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and mouth open in utter horror. Of all the sights he had expected to see, he would have never, _ever_ , imagined seeing the Dursley’s in Hogwarts. Not in a million years. Surely they would have killed themselves before they would allow _anyone_ to take them anywhere within the vicinity of magic or their nephew.

 “ _You!_ BOY!” Harry’s uncle bellowing renewed once he saw Harry and the slender wizard immediately pressed back against the door, trembling. All thoughts of magic or protecting himself vanished when confronted with his angry uncle, as they always did. Luckily for him, Vernon was still contained in the invisible cage around the chair in front of his desk.

 “Ah, yes, here is Harry,” Dumbledore said cheerily, though the hardness of his eyes revealed how much his patience was being tested with the Dursley’s. Harry wished that he would just send his relatives back where they came from. “I’m sure you’re thrilled to see him, but I’m afraid that I can’t release you from the spell, Mr. Dursley. That vase was quite valuable, you see, and we don’t want to risk a similar accident if we can avoid it.”

 Harry relaxed slightly when he saw that his seething uncle was momentarily contained, but he remained plastered firmly against the door. Just in case. “D-did they break something, sir? I-I’m sorry, t-they don’t think things through sometimes.”

 “We don’t need _you_ to apologize for us, boy!” Vernon growled, just barely restraining from saying some of the many expletives he had created specifically for Harry. Apparently, his uncle had realized what might happen if the Headmaster discovered that their treatment of him had been less than satisfactory.

 “Yes, it’s very kind of you, Harry, but I’m sure they can take responsibility for their own actions.” Dumbledore stood from his chair, his sharp look freezing Vernon back into silence when he opened his mouth to protest loudly. He turned his gaze back to Harry, solemnity settling over his face. “Now, Harry, I’m sure you’re wondering why your relatives are in my office. We have been alerted that the Dark Lord has been contemplating attacking your home; possibly to shake your confidence or to get at you should the worst happen and you lost your guardians.”

 “I-I see…” Harry said hesitantly, taking care to keep his eyes away from his uncle’s. “But sir-“

 Suddenly, the door behind him opened and he fell back with a surprised cry. Before he could fall, long fingers wrapped tightly around his thin arms and his back collided with a narrow chest. He immediately began to struggle, already panicked because of his uncle’s presence, and looked up. He froze, eyes wide when he recognized the dour expression on the Potion Master’s face.

 “Potter,” Snape said slowly, eyes narrow, “is there a reason for this assault on my person?” Inexplicably, Harry felt his body relax and even a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth could have turned into a smile if he hadn’t heard Dudley squeak in fear behind him. Instantly, he tensed and broke from the spy’s grasp, looking away.

 “N-no, sir, sorry.” He muttered. Uncle Vernon, perhaps sensing an ally in the cold professor, guffawed loudly.

 “He’s always getting in the way, the useless lump,” he growled, spearing Harry with another glare. Harry looked down at his shoes hastily, flushing in shame, and he scuttled to a more secure part of the wall next to Fawkes’ perch. Snape’s head jerked up at the unfamiliar voice, his black eyes narrowing even more at the sight of the man that he could vaguely remember as Potter’s uncle from the boy’s memories. Potter’s abuser.

 “Why are _they_ here?” He asked the Headmaster directly, ignoring Vernon, whose face purpled as he spluttered. His voice was as hard as steel, even more so than usual, and Dumbledore looked at him curiously before answering.

 “Just as I was going to explain to Harry here, we temporarily removed the Dursley’s from their home in order to place some last-minute wards when we heard that Voldemort might attack them. They will only be detained for a short time.”

 “I see.” Snape’s voice was emotionless. Harry didn’t dare look up for fear of seeing Snape’s reaction. Snape was the only one who knew about the abuse – presumably. What would he do in this situation? Would he leave Harry to his uncle again?

 “However, Headmaster,” Snape was continuing. “I reported that the Dark Lord was merely contemplating the possibility as he does at times. There is little chance of him actually following through and so it is unnecessary for these… people,” he sneered disdainfully, “to be here.”

 “Nonsense, Severus,” Dumbledore responded. “We must take every opportunity to protect Harry’s relatives. He will be returning to their care for the last time this summer. Besides, it gives them a chance to see Harry in a school setting. Perhaps you would like show them around tomorrow during classes, Harry?” Snape glanced over at the Boy-Who-Lived, his lips tight with disapproval.

 Harry paled at the very thought, his hands beginning to tremble forcefully. He gripped them tightly together, ignoring Fawkes’ calming coo next to his ear. Uncle Vernon was actually smiling maliciously at the thought. “N-no, that’s alright, Headmaster. I-I’m sure they would just like to rest safely in their rooms.” Uncle Vernon snorted loudly from his captivity, but no one paid attention.

 Dumbledore nodded, but he frowned slightly, taking a closer look at his surrogate grandson. “Harry, my boy, are you quite alright? You look like you’ve taken a bit of a chill.”

 “Er, yeah, I think I’ve caught something,” Harry said, jumping at the excuse. “In fact, I should probably go to the Hospital Wing so that I don’t miss the game this weekend. If that was all, Professor…?”

 “I suppose so,” the elderly wizard responded, still looking concerned. “There is a meeting tonight, but you may go to the Infirmary first. Your family is staying in the guest rooms near the statue of Nebilus the Nimble on the third floor. The password is _Protection_. You may visit them any time.” Harry nodded, already backing toward the door.

 “Yes, sir. Er, thanks.” He cast a final cautious glance at his uncle before edging around Snape in the doorway and making his escape. His heart fluttered uneasily in his chest as he bolted for the Room of Requirement seeking solitude or, at best, a place to hide until his _family_ left. When he got to the seventh floor, panting, he paced in front of the blank wall and entered the door that appeared. He immediately found a corner and dropped to the floor, hugging his knees to his chest.

 “Oh God, oh _Merlin_ ,” he moaned into his knees. This was a disaster. The Dursley’s, here? Hogwarts was his _home_ – no matter what Dumbledore said – and it was his escape. It was where he could be himself and relax with his friends and be somewhat _normal_ for most of the year. It was where he could forget about the abuse, about the hopelessness and the helplessness and the weakness he felt in that house. The Dursley’s were _never_ supposed to be anywhere _near_ his sanctuary. But now they were. _It can’t be that bad_ , he argued with himself in an attempt to comfort. _I’ll just stay out of their way and they’ll be gone before I know it. This castle is huge and full of magic; they won’t get far before they get lost. In fact, I would be surprised if they even_ think _about leaving their rooms. They’re too afraid of running into one of us freaks._

 It wasn’t helping. Certainly it was possible that the Dursley’s would refuse to leave their rooms for their stay here, and it was possible that they could go for weeks without seeing Harry even if they _did_ leave their rooms. Nevertheless, Harry knew that if Uncle Vernon ever got it into his mind to punish Harry or send him a warning, there were few things that would stop him. Even in a castle full of wizards.

 “Ah, I thought that I would find you here. You’re painfully predictable, Potter.” Harry’s head jerked up in surprise at the voice and he blinked at the sudden light that filled the room from the open door. He recognized Snape’s voice instantly.

 “P-Professor?” He said, wincing at the weak sound of his voice. “What are you doing here?”

 “I should be asking you the same thing,” Snape replied dryly. “What in Merlin’s name _is_ this miserable place, Potter?” Harry looked around the room he had conjured for the first time. It was small, barely big enough for him to stand up or lay down in, and there was a tiny sagging cot on one side of the room and some built-in shelving on the walls next to him. The shelves were filled with cleaning supplies and bleach, but there were small signs of occupation, such as the large, dirty socks on the ground and some rags he recognized as clothes tucked under the shelves with a couple of tattered books. Next to the books were a few plastic army soldiers – broken, of course, with a few missing arms or legs – a cracked marble, and a wooden horse with the head broken off. On the inside of the door, a wrinkled paper proudly proclaimed “Harry’s Room” in crooked crayon.

 “My cupboard,” Harry said blankly, stunned.

 “Your _what_?”

 “My cupboard. It’s where I lived until I got accepted to Hogwarts.” Harry explained, absently reaching over to pick up a green army soldier. It was his favorite; it was only missing an arm.

“This was your bedroom.” Snape repeated, his voice flat with disbelief. “There are poisonous chemicals on the shelves, Potter, and spiders all over the floor. It wouldn’t be suitable for a dog.”

 “They don’t hurt you if you’re careful with them,” Harry responded, shrugging as he gently picked off a spider or two that were attempting to climb up his leg. He didn’t know why he was telling Snape so much. Sure, they had gotten along better over time, but the fact was that Snape could be a downright cold bastard at times, and he certainly wasn’t wont to give comfort or reassurance. _Perhaps that was it_ , Harry realized. He had always hated pity and false platitudes, and there was no chance that he would receive those from Snape. He never had, even after all this time since Snape had discovered the abuse. Snape would try to get him to talk about it, he would bully and push, but he never offered comfort or pity. It was… sort of refreshing.

 “I see,” Snape was saying dubiously. “And why have you chosen your former… _bedroom_ to hide?”

 “I’m not hiding!” Harry said indignantly, a faint blush of embarrassment covering his cheeks. “And I don’t _know_ why I chose it. I suppose it’s always been… safe. It’s always dark in here and it’s small. Uncle Vernon couldn’t fit inside.” He got a faint smirk from Snape at that.

 “No doubt.” Snape contemplated what was being revealed by this little encounter with Potter. The fact that he associated small, dark places with safety was obvious, but it was surprising that his subconscious had chosen this hellhole from his childhood as an escape from his present situation.

 Harry stood, brushing himself off as his cupboard twisted and faded around him. It became larger, the walls a dark red, and black leather armchairs appeared in front of a fireplace. Steaming cups of tea emerged along with a small table between the chairs and, as if in irony of the situation, Harry placed a chaise lounge in the corner of the room. Snape’s lips twitched in appreciation and they took a seat. Harry felt much calmer now than he had before, but he was still nervous at the thought of his uncle within Hogwarts.

 “Why is it that I had never seen a hint of your home life in your memories last year, Potter?” Snape asked.

 Harry shrugged. “I’m not sure. All I know is that I wanted to keep those thoughts from you so I tried as hard as I could to hide them.” Snape stared at him.

 “And what do you think I was trying to teach you, you silly child?” He huffed irritably, rolling his eyes. “If you had been able to shield _all_ of your memories as heavily as you did then, we would have been saved a lot of trouble.”

 “I didn’t know what I was doing!” Harry protested indignantly. “It wasn’t like you gave me a book on Occlumency or even tried particularly hard to make sure I succeeded. ‘Empty your mind,’ my arse!”

 “Watch your language, boy!” Snape snarled. Harry flinched instinctively at the name and Snape paused momentarily before he continued. “Do not attempt to place the blame solely on me, Potter. You didn’t try nearly as hard as you should have and you know it. We both made mistakes that year and were blind to many things.” Harry swallowed and nodded, staring down into his tea.

 “How long will the Dursley’s be here?” He asked finally. Snape watched him closely, eyes carefully shuttered.

 “Three days.” Harry couldn’t quite hide the sigh of relief or slump of his shoulders at that.

 “Good.”

 “At the risk of sounding like a broken phonograph, Potter, I’ll tell you again that you can’t avoid dealing with this situation. He belongs in muggle prison, if not in Azkaban. They _all_ do.”

 “Can we just stop talking about this? How many times do I have to tell you that I wasn’t abused? There are people around the world much worse off than I ever was. They don’t deserve Azkaban just for roughing me up a little.”

 “Potter, you were practically trying to melt into the wall when he was simply in the _room_. You were shaking like a leaf!”

 “I was just surprised! It isn’t everyday that your magic-hating relatives show up at the most magical place in Britain!”

 “You’re impossible!” Snape snarled finally. “You can’t possibly be _happy_ with your life there?”

 “Don’t you get it? I don’t _deserve_ —!” Harry bit back his retort, biting his lip and standing up abruptly. He circled his chair and stood with his back facing Snape. He had said too much. He was furious with himself for getting carried away in front of Snape, no matter how much he had come to trust the spy. The room flickered around them, becoming darker and smaller, but not quite reverting back to his cupboard. He heard the clink as Snape set down his tea and stood.

“I will only say this once, Potter, so listen carefully.” He began, his voice low. “ _Everyone_ deserves happiness in their lives. Some are born into it as children and carry it with them throughout their lives while others are forced to find it as they grow older. Some spend their entire lives searching for it in all the wrong places, and others keep themselves from truly obtaining it because they feel as though they don’t _deserve_ it. The truth is that happiness is not a sin, Potter, nor is it only for the good and the pure.”

 Harry hugged himself as he listened to Snape speak, digging his fingers into his sides and clenching his eyes shut as he felt a hot burning beneath his lids. He wanted so badly to believe Snape, who obviously believed his own words, but it was so _hard_! It was clashing with everything the Dursley’s had ever told him through the years. He had always been worthless, a burden, undeserving of joy or relief from the loneliness that plagued him. How could Snape say that he could find happiness after everything that had happened to him?

 “And yet there are times when it is impossible to find full happiness, when war and disease and death plague us, but isn’t that why we are fighting this war, Potter? So that we can secure the happiness and freedom of others, as well as ourselves? Do not be so arrogant or pitiful as to think that you are above the most basic of rights given to every wizard and witch.”

 Harry couldn’t hold it in anymore. He spun around and launched himself at the tall wizard, who barely managed to keep his balance when the smaller wizard barreled into him. Harry buried his face in Snape’s chest, clutching his robes tightly in his fists, and began to cry. Ever since he had come to the Dursley’s, it had taken a lot for him to be able to cry. Beatings barely fazed him anymore, but the emotional burdens – Sirius’ death, the pressure as the Boy-Who-Lived, the cruel deaths of innocent people – sometimes became too much.

 Snape seemed to be frozen in complete shock. Gradually, he began to thaw as he realized that Harry Potter, the praised Boy-Who-Lived, the recklessly brave Gryffindor, the Wizarding world’s hero, was clutching onto him and crying like the child he truly was. _Him_ , the cold, heartless Potions Master cum spy with a mind like a fox and a tongue like a snake, had been able to reach through Potter’s iron-like defenses. Slowly, as if unable to comprehend the situation, he brought his arms up and gently wrapped them around the shaking boy. Hot tears were soaking through his favorite black robe and quiet whimpers were breaking the silence, occasionally followed by a harsh sob. All in all, it was not nearly as disturbing an experience as Snape would have imagined.

 "Why?” Potter choked out eventually. “W-why do they hate me s-so much? What did I d-do wrong? It’s not fair! I-I tried so h-hard not to be a worthless f-freak…” He fell silent and Snape tried to quell the rage building up in him like a tidal wave. He didn’t realize that he had tightened his grip until the boy in his arms started to struggle weakly. He immediately loosened his grip, feeling an aching in his chest that he hadn’t felt since he had been in school himself.

 He brought a hand up to stroke the silky mess of hair that barely reached his collarbone, not even noticing when he began murmuring comforting words to the child he used to hate as fully as his father. There was something surreal about the situation. Should anyone else had instigated this interaction, student or not, Snape would have pushed them away in a heartbeat and shoved them out the door to the Infirmary with a calming potion. Potter, however, had somehow managed to incite some feeling of – what? Protection? Worry? Responsibility?

 Well, it didn’t matter what the particular emotion was. The fact was that he had it and it was prompting him to hug the boy tighter and lead him to a chair with a handkerchief and a warm cup of tea, to kneel in front of him and ask him if he was alright. It forced him to stay and whisper those ridiculously useless words until Potter succumbed to the calming potion in the tea and then it forced him to transfigure the chair into a couch with a blanket and a pillow and sit next to the boy in his armchair, occasionally stroking his hair as nightmares threatened his sleep.

 Severus Snape was not normally a good man, but sometimes, he could make an exception.

 

* * *

 

Snape woke Harry only an hour later. The Boy-Who-Lived was understandably confused at first, but when he caught sight of Snape, still sitting in the armchair next to the couch he had been sleeping on, everything came rushing back.

 “Oh, Merlin,” Harry moaned to himself, flushing in embarrassment. “I made a complete mess of things, didn’t I?”

 “I wouldn’t use those exact words,” Snape responded, “But yes, you did break down. Perhaps you should reconsider your stress-relieving activities since they are clearly not working.” Harry groaned in mortification.

 “Did you stay with me this whole time?” He asked incredulously. Snape shifted, uncomfortable with revealing his odd compulsion.

 “You have done the same thing for me several times, so I won’t hear a word of complaint.” He responded, scowling. That earned a faint but crooked smile from the younger wizard.

 “Okay… Thanks, Professor. For- for everything.”

 Snape brushed the thanks aside with a wave of his hand. “We are all human, Potter. Such things are natural.” He contemplated the boy across from him for a moment before continuing. “I will share something with you that I have only shared with two other people in this world, Potter. I will only say it once, so listen carefully: I once indulged in the same action you did here with your mother, many years ago. It was in third year, under nearly exactly the same situation.”

 “W- _what_? How did you know my mum?”

 “She helped me during a project for Potions in our second year and then we became study partners for nearly our entire Hogwarts career. She was… kind to me, until she found out that I was planning on joining the Dark Lord’s service. She was disappointed in me then.”

 “So what happened in third year?” Harry asked, head still reeling from this revelation. The irony that Lily Potter, a muggleborn, helped Snape in Potions was not lost on him.

 “My father came to… visit me during the school year. He said that it was to inform me of a death in the family, but Lily found me as I was trying to repair the damage he had left. She had always been much better at healing charms than I was.”

 “Y-you were…”

 “Abused?” Snape’s dark eyes glittered in the fire light and he nodded. “Yes. My mother and I were never spared from my father’s anger.”

 “I see…” Harry said faintly. He stared down at the floor. “I-I guess we have a lot in common, then.”

 “I suppose,” Snape said agreeably, “though my father met with an unfortunate accident sometime during my sixth year. My mother had already died when I was twelve.”

 “How… How did you… deal with it?” Harry asked hesitantly. They were getting into dangerous waters now, as far as he was concerned, but he was interested and he doubted that Snape would be this forthcoming in the future. Indeed, the silence continued for so long that he almost thought that Snape would refuse to answer. “I-I’m sorry—” He began, but stopped when he saw Snape rolling up his right sleeve up to his elbow.

 Harry leaned forward cautiously, uncomfortable with the closeness, but then he gasped when he saw the raised white lines lining Snape’s pale flesh. There were dozens of them tracing up and down his forearm, each as uniform and precise in length and distance as Snape was now with his potions. Harry had heard of cutting, of course – had even thought of doing it, once – but in the end he had decided that he had seen enough blood in his lifetime to bother with spilling his own.

 “And this is where our strengths differ, Potter.” Snape said softly. He pulled his sleeve back down, his expression closed and emotionless now, and Harry knew the conversation was over.

 They returned to Dumbledore’s office for the Order meeting. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding when they entered and found that the Dursley’s were gone. His frame relaxed and he was able to smile when he entered the room off of Dumbledore’s office and saw the core members of the Order of the Phoenix seated around the huge wooden table. Snape instantly parted from him once they were inside, scowling darkly, and Harry greeted those he knew with a nod as he reached his seat next to Remus.

 "It’s good to see you, Harry,” the worn werewolf said warmly.

 “Hullo, Remus,” Harry replied with a crooked smile. He felt lighter somehow, as if a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. His emotions felt renewed and vibrant.

 “I hope you’ll be awake enough for tomorrow; no doubt young Mr. Malfoy will be itching to try out the Ice Arrow spell on you.”

 “I’m not too worried. I’m sure that I can handle anything he tries to throw at me,” Harry responded with a mysterious smile on his lips, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He had mastered the Ice Arrow spell wandlessly long ago and had even managed to manipulate it slightly to either create multiple arrows or control an entire sheet of ice. He had also mastered the Fire Arrow spell – which they hadn’t learned yet – in the same way.

 “Just don’t send him to the Hospital Wing,” Remus chuckled. Dumbledore stood and the room fell silent.

 “I would like to welcome all of you to this rather last minute meeting. There have been some recent developments that must be discussed with all due haste. As we know, Voldemort has been recruiting foreign wizards into his ranks for the past month, but we have just learned that he has broken Helmut Schliemann out of Sarsgard. He has brought him here to England.”

 An uneasy murmur broke out among the gathered wizards and witches. Harry just listened, confused. He hadn’t heard about any wizard named Helmut Schliemann in any of the books he had read on wizarding history and his visions hadn’t revealed the man’s name, either. As Dumbledore continued the meeting, Harry leaned over to a grim Remus.

 “Who is Helmut Schliemann?” He asked quietly. “I’ve never even heard of him.”

 “You wouldn’t have,” Remus replied, equally quiet. “He’s been locked up in the most powerful German wizard prison for the past twenty years and before that his case had only been reported in German newspapers. The only reason that we know of him is because he was recruited by Voldemort during his first rise, but Schliemann never came here to England. We still don’t know why.”

 “What did he do?”

 “Not only was he an expert in offensive potions and bombs in the underground Dark Arts community in Germany, he also has a penchant for attacking wizard children.”

 “Like Greyback?” Remus hesitated, the disgust plain on his features.

 “Not exactly. Schliemann is slightly more… deviant.” The conversation ended there as they turned their attention back to the discussion of battle tactics, gathering information, and future movements.

 “Does our guest have anything to add?” Dumbledore asked near the end of the meeting, indicating that the tall figure swathed in a black cloak and cowl should stand. The man had been coming to several Order meetings ever since the new year, but from what Harry could gather, no one but Dumbledore even knew who he was. Other Order members were cautious of him, but he rarely spoke except when asked to by Dumbledore.

 “Only to keep an eye on Malfoy Manor,” the man rumbled in his deep voice. “I have heard that Lucius may be expecting a foreign visitor soon.”

 “I have heard no such thing,” Moody snapped suspiciously. He had been the hardest to accept the stranger, even with Dumbledore’s assurances, and he took every chance to challenge the man’s credibility. “I’m curious as to exactly _who_ your sources are if you can get such detailed information.”

 “Why, Mr. Moody, I never kiss and tell,” the stranger said, his smirk obvious in his tone. “Your sources and mine run in different circles, I’m sure.” Moody spluttered in fury, but before he could respond, Dumbledore broke in.

 “That’s enough, gentlemen. Alastor, you know of my thoughts about this matter already. And you, my friend,” he said to the stranger, “are doing yourself a disservice if you alienate these wizards and witches from your confidence. It would do us all good to remember that we are all working together toward the same goal.” The two wizards subsided – Moody grumbling to himself irritably – and Dumbledore continued.

 “Now, Mr. Potter, do _you_ have anything to add?” Harry blinked in surprise. He didn’t think that he would ever get used to being addressed as an equal in these meetings.

 “No, sir. I haven’t had a vision that referred to anything that was said tonight. Then again, it’s been two nights since my last vision.”

 “I understand. You know what to do should any new developments arise.” With that, he clapped his hands and called an end to the meeting. It was past one o’clock in the morning at this point and Harry couldn’t be more ready to sleep. It had been a very stressful day.

 “Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks called as he made his way to the door with Remus beside him.

 “Alright, Tonks?” He replied with a crooked smile. Her hair flared green in response.

 “Been right busy, I have.”

 “Not nearly busy enough, if it were up to me,” Moody growled as he sidled up to them. His magical eye was fixed behind him on the black-shrouded figure that was speaking with Dumbledore, but his normal eye was watching Harry. “Potter.”

 “Hullo, Moody.” Harry greeted. “How have you been?”

The ex-Auror ignored the question, leaning forward instead and lowering his voice to a harsh whisper. “I have a question for ye, boy. Something doesn’t sit right with me about that one,” he jerked his head over at the stranger, scowling. “Have you seen ‘im in any of your visions? With Death Eaters?” Harry blinked, cocking an eyebrow. Beside him, Tonks groaned and slapped her forehead.

 “No tact!” She muttered in exasperation.

 "No, I can’t say I have,” Harry said slowly, trying to suppress a smile. He had thought of that when the stranger had first started coming to meetings, but Harry had long ago memorized the posture and voices of all of the Death Eaters he had come into contact with and the mysterious man hadn’t matched anyone. No doubt Moody was just frustrated that his eye couldn’t see through the stranger’s cloak. “I wouldn’t worry about it. Professor Dumbledore knows what he’s doing.”

 “That’s what we all thought with Pettigrew,” Moody said knowingly, whirling his magical eye around to stare at Harry and raising his eyebrows. Harry paled slightly, feeling something cold drop into his stomach. Tonks elbowed Moody in the stomach.

 “That’s enough, Alastor.” Remus said warningly, flecks of gold highlighting his brown eyes. “We need to trust that the Headmaster has taken all the precautions necessary.” Moody grunted, but subsided.

 “I’m sorry, I need to go,” Harry murmured, turning and making his way to the door before anyone could protest. Remus gave Moody a hard glance before saying goodbye to Tonks and following his cub.

 “You know he didn’t mean it like that, Harry,” he said. “Mad-Eye is just…”

 “I know, Moony, don’t worry about it,” the slender wizard reassured him. “It’s just been a long day today. I’m ready to sleep for about a week.” Remus chuckled.

 “No doubt. I also heard that your relatives are staying here for a few days. I’m sorry; I know how much you dislike staying at their house for the summer.”

 “Yeah, it’s a… surprise alright. I never would have thought I would see them _here_ , of all places. I bet my uncle’s going to be _really_ happy that they’ve been forced from their home for nothing.” Remus furrowed his brow.

 “You don’t think that Voldemort will attack them?” 

“I live inside the monster’s mind for three nights of the week, Remus. I _know_ how he thinks. It was just an amusing idea to him; he wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t there. The wards are too strong and there’s no point in attacking them. He knows—” Harry cut himself off. Voldemort had been in Harry’s mind enough to know that Harry didn’t particularly like his relatives. In Voldemort’s mind, this would mean that Harry wouldn’t care if they were killed and thus it would be useless. Of course, he was wrong. Even if Harry didn’t like his relatives, there was no way that he would want them dead.

 “Well, I doubt that you will even see them. It’s only for three days and you have classes and things to do. Surely they will respect that.”

 Harry just made a noncommittal noise. The Dursley’s hadn’t respected him ever since he had been born, but Remus couldn’t know that. He would die if the kind werewolf ever found about his life with the Dursley’s; no doubt Remus would blame himself or pity Harry, neither of which Harry wanted at all. The rest of the walk was silent until they reached the staircase that would take Harry up to Gryffindor Tower, at which point they bid each other good night. Harry wearily climbed the stairs and mumbled the password before entering.

 “Harry!” Ron and Hermione’s voices sounded simultaneously from the couch in front of the Common Room fire and they jumped up to meet him.

 “Where have you been, Harry? It’s nearly three hours past curfew!” Hermione exclaimed, wringing her hands together worriedly.

 “It was that slinky ferret, wasn’t it?” Ron demanded. “I _knew_ it was a bad idea-“

 "No, no, relax Ron,” Harry said, raising his hands to calm them. “Don’t worry; it had nothing to do with Malfoy. In fact, he warned me about something that the Slytherins are planning against me. It was kind of weird. He was almost… nice.”

 “ _Nice?_ Are you sure you haven’t been cursed, mate?” Harry ignored him.

 “And anyway, I only talked to him for a couple of minutes before Dumbledore called me up to his office.”

 “Professor Dumbledore? What did he say?” Hermione asked.

 Harry hesitated for a long moment, feeling his stomach roil again at the thought of the Dursley’s here. “He… he told me that the Dursley’s are staying here while he puts some more wards on their house.”

 “The Dursley’s?” Ron asked incredulously, wrinkling his nose as if he smelt something foul.

"Those horrible people are staying here at Hogwarts? That’s terrible, Harry! You don’t have to see them, do you?”

 “Hopefully not,” Harry mumbled. “They’ll only be here for three days. I should be able to avoid them for that long. Anyway, there was an Order meeting after that and it just ended.” He left out the entire scene with Snape. Not only was it extremely personal, but it involved secrets on both sides that he didn’t plan on revealing anytime soon, if ever. Besides, he doubted that they could believe that _Snape_ of all people would comfort Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World.

 “You must be exhausted,” Hermione said sympathetically, much to Harry’s relief. Ron looked like he wanted to ask more questions about the meeting, but Hermione was herding them toward the boy’s staircase persistently. “You both get some sleep; you can tell us more about it in the morning, Harry. We have a quiz in Transfiguration and you can’t fall asleep in the middle of it like last time, Ron. I swear I won’t wake you up this time.”

 “Yeah, yeah, you say that every time,” the red head grumbled good-naturedly. They climbed up the stairs and sleepily got ready for bed before they collapsed into their soft covers. For a long while, there was only the sound of Neville and Dean’s snores, but then Ron spoke.

 “Hey, Harry?”

 “Yeah, Ron?”

 “If they try anything, I’ve got your back, alright? I’ll hex them two ways from Tuesday.”

 "Yeah, I know. Thanks, Ron.” Harry said quietly past the sudden lump in his throat. Ron didn’t know the full extent of what happened at the Dursley’s, but he was certainly the one who knew the most about it – besides Snape. He and Harry had promised that they wouldn’t tell Hermione how it had been during the summer after first year when Ron had found him in that bare bedroom. Harry had taken care never to change in front of him, either, so he didn’t know about the scars, but he was still quite a bit more perceptive than people often gave him credit for. Harry didn’t know how he would have survived without friends like his.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an ending.

_Harry stared up into Malfoy’s stormy grey eyes, closing the distance between them._

“ _Is that_ really _all you’re after, Malfoy? Because I’ve got a feeling that you’ve got your eye on something else, too.”_

“ _Oh? Do you really want to know, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice dropped to a silky whisper that made a shiver travel up Harry’s spine. He licked his lips, feeling something warm spread through his lower body, and a light blush stole across his cheeks and nose. He suddenly felt out of his depth as the tension of the situation shifted to something completely unfamiliar. He tried to take a step back but an arm was quickly wrapping itself around his back, pulling him closer toward Malfoy._

“ _My my, you’re cute when you’re confused,” Malfoy drawled, bending his head down to stare into the raven-haired wizard’s expressive green eyes. Harry’s eyes were wide in surprise and uncertainty, his lips slightly parted as he tried to think of something to say. Then Malfoy’s hand stroked the length of his back, caressing the small bumps between his shoulder blades, and a wave of pleasure shuddered through him. His eyes abruptly unfocused and he let out a husky moan as his body melted into Malfoy’s warmth. Obviously, the blonde hadn’t forgotten the incident in the Hospital Wing._

“ _M-Malfoy,” Harry moaned, his face flushing with embarrassment when he realized that his penis was becoming stiff with arousal. He struggled to release himself from the blond’s firm grasp, knowing that Malfoy’s knowledge of his weakness was a dangerous thing, but if he was truthful to himself, he wasn’t trying that hard._

“ _Harry.” Malfoy murmured sensually, his own breath hitching with arousal. Harry nearly moaned again when he realized that the blonde was just as affected as he was, but suddenly everything was fading; the breeze, the sunset, the sensations, the emotions. Even Malfoy disappeared, leaving Harry alone in the darkness shivering. It was so black that he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. For a long while he drifted, until suddenly it was as if he opened his eyes without even knowing that he had closed them._

_Voices came as if from a long distance, and vague surroundings were settling in around him. A large, ornate throne room. A low table next to him. Two figures – one standing, the other kneeling – in front of a shadowy fireplace. Pain suddenly erupted from his scar._

“ _I believe it is time, Wormtail. I was very pleased with his latest potion; even I had not expected the extent of the results it achieved. Perhaps…”_

“ _The Pax Veritas, my lord? D-do you think he i-is ready?”_

“ _Do you not agree with me, my little rat?”_

“ _Whatever you s-say must be, m-my lord. I just wondered… w-with his close p-proximity to D-Dum-“_

“ _Ah, I do not doubt that my sly potion’s master can handle it.” Voldemort said dismissively, waving the concerns aside. “Bring him here tomorrow night, Wormtail, and arrange comfortable quarters for him. When everything is arranged, bring him to me in this room…”_

Harry sat up in his bed with a gasp, his mind whirling from the events and implications of his vision. Voldemort was going to use the Pax Veritas on Snape. Harry had dreaded that this moment may occur, as he had known that it would be inevitable, but he was still stunned. Without further delay, he threw on a robe over his boxers and nightshirt and left the Gryffindor Tower at a run.

The Pax Veritas, or the Peaceful Truth, was a potion ironically named because of the crippling pain it caused those who drank it. If the person was in any way weak or injured, it would kill them. Essentially, it was a glorified loyalty potion in which the blood of the tester was used in a potion that the victim drank. In this case, a drop of Voldemort’s blood would be added to the potion and Snape would drink it, causing him unspeakable pain and torture. If he was loyal, he would remain silent but for his screams. If he was disloyal, the potion would force him to scream out his deceptions. The real test was that the potion affected the mind as well as the body. Occlumency would not save Snape here.

By now, Harry had reached the gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office. He gasped out the password and ran up the winding steps. He heard voices from within the office, but he paid no attention. There wasn’t time for politeness now.

“-do something! This foreplay has gone on far too long, Albus; the Dark Lord continues to grow in power while we struggle to keep up with him! The fact that Schliemann is here now—”

“Albus!” Harry gasped as he burst through the door, stopping when he saw Snape standing across Dumbledore’s desk. “Professor!” He exclaimed in surprise.

“Potter!” Snape snarled. “What in Merlin’s name are _you_ doing here at this hour?” Dumbledore made a calming gesture with his hand even as he stood and moved quickly around his desk to Harry’s side, his blue eyes concerned.

“Harry, my boy, are you alright?”

Harry nodded, still glancing over at Snape. “Yeah, I’m fine. I had another vision.” Dumbledore nodded in understanding, leading him over to the chair next to Snape’s.

“I gather that it is of great importance, then? You have not visited my office in such a state for weeks.”

“I will take my leave then, Headmaster,” Snape said stiffly, scowling at Harry’s intrusion. “Perhaps at another time-“

“Don’t!” Harry burst out, much to all their surprise. “I mean, please stay, Professor. This one is about you.” Snape’s eyes widened at the implication and swiftly came closer to Harry, his gaze intense. Dumbledore stilled for a split second before he resumed pouring tea for Harry.

“Please explain, Harry,” he asked calmly, though the command was clear in his voice.

“Volde-“ Snape flinched. “Er, the Dark Lord is going to use the Pax Veritas on you, Professor. Tomorrow night.” The Potions Master paled, his lips tightening as his gaze bored into Harry’s anxious green eyes, seemingly seeing through them.

“Show us, Harry,” Dumbledore prompted, raising a wrinkled hand to place the fingertips of his left hand on Harry’s right temple. After a moment of hesitation, Snape did the same to the other side. The Boy-Who-Lived closed his eyes and brought the memory of the vision to the surface, leaving the first part of the dream behind (because, really, he had no time to contemplate what _that_ meant). He let the short vision play before his mind’s eye for the two viewers before cutting it off and gently pushing them from his mind.

“What are you going to do, Professor?” Harry asked, forcing his voice to be calm despite the anxiety he felt.

“That is none of your concern, Potter—” Snape began, but Dumbledore cut him off.

“That is not necessarily true, Severus. In this matter, I believe Harry has every right to know just what will happen. He is mature enough to be treated as an adult and accept the situation as it is. I have learned that the hard way.” Snape frowned in a way that suggested that he disagreed, but he didn’t try to force Harry out again.

“Very well. There is a potion that can be made to counteract the effects of the Pax Veritas undetected. If I begin brewing now, I may be able to drink it in time. Albus, I will send for you when I reach the critical stage.” With that, he swept out of the room, ignoring Harry’s worried gaze.

“Will he be alright, Albus?” Harry asked.

“He will be now, my boy. He has you to thank for that.” A deeply sad expression fell over his face as he slowly moved next to Fawkes’ perch, stroking the lovely creature with a wrinkled hand. “You do not know how important this warning is, Harry. During his first reign, Voldemort also tested his followers with the Pax Veritas to determine whether they were worthy to enter into his Inner Circle. We had a man that was in a similar position as Severus; however, we were not aware that he was to be tested. Whether it was the potion or his captors that eventually killed him, we will never know.”

He turned to Harry with a small smile. “Severus knows this as well as I. No doubt he is somewhat vexed that you saved his life once again.”

“I’m just returning the favor.” Harry shrugged. Dumbledore cocked his head quizzically.

“I must say that I am somewhat surprised at how the relationship between you and Severus has changed over these past few months, Harry. Have the two of you finally reached some sort of truce to your ongoing feud?”

“Er, something like that, I suppose.” Harry said evasively, shrugging his shoulder. “It’s because of these lessons you’ve forced him to teach me. We had to reach a truce or else we would have killed each other by now.”

“Lessons? Dear boy, I haven’t asked Severus to give you any lessons. Is that what he told you?” The twinkle in the old man’s blue eyes was nearly blinding. “He always has been modest. Never one to take credit for his own ideas.”

“I… Wait, what?” Harry stuttered, staring. Snape had taught him these lessons by his own _choice_?

“Well, Harry, it is well past early morning. Breakfast will be served in only two hours; I suggest you return to your dorm and try to catch a bit of shuteye. And don’t worry about Severus; we will take every action necessary to ensure his safety.” Harry nodded absently and shuffled through the halls back to Gryffindor Tower, still contemplating the implications of Snape’s actions.

The man was infuriatingly contradictory; at best, he treated Harry like he was a particularly slow student during Potions (at worst, he practically flayed Harry alive). During lessons, however, they were nearly equals; two allies working toward a common goal. And yet, there was that one disastrous night in the Room of Requirement where Snape acted almost like a friend or a guardian. It was frustrating, especially when his personas changed so quickly. Harry supposed that that was what made him an excellent spy, but it was exhausting trying to keep up and try to understand exactly what their relationship was.

So, Harry decided not to. He ignored the disappointed, longing ache in his chest. It didn’t matter, really. As long as they were able to work together to defeat Voldemort, that’s all that mattered.

 

* * *

 

“Oh God. Quickly, bring him in, Mr. Weasley! No no, not there, bring him over here.”

“Can you help him? T-this is the worst one we’ve ever seen!”

“We will do everything we can, Ms. Granger. Tell me what happened.”

“He woke everyone up when he started screaming. Usually, I’m the one who gets in his bed with him and puts up the silencing charm so the others can sleep while I help him. I couldn’t hold him down this time, though; he banged his head on the headboard a few times and he scratched up his face before I could stop him. It-it’s never been this bad before…”

“That’s enough Mr. Weasley. Ms. Granger, do you have anything to add?”

“I went up to the boy’s dorms to help when I heard Harry screaming and I tried to put an Intervention charm on him like I do sometimes so that he won’t hurt himself, but this time he broke through it. When I tried to recast it, it bounced off of a shield he somehow conjured. He’s never done that before either.”

“Very well… Merlin! Weasley, hold his legs! Tightly, now! Ms. Granger, help me with these potions. They have never worked as well on Harry as they should, but we must try something. At this point, he could-“

“Argh!”

“-Ah! Hold him, Mr. Weasley! It’s better for him to have a few bruises than for you to have a broken nose! I’ll heal that later… _Silencio!_ Blast that infernal shield! We can’t so much as a silencing charm through.”

“Madame Pomfrey! I think his scar is bleeding on its own; look how red it is! Oh _Merlin_ , Harry, wake up!”

“Ms. Granger, you’ll have to hold his head for me. That’s it; hold him as steady as you can!”

“What the _hell_ is You-Know-Who doing? He’s going to kill Harry at this rate!”

“Enough of that, Mr. Weasley! We must concentrate on Harry now; hurry, Ms. Granger, conjure rags and warm water for me. This may take a while.”

 

 

Albus Dumbledore stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, staring up at the brightly twinkling stars above that were so similar to the twinkle that normally accompanied his gaze. Tonight, however, no such twinkle was present. He had been waiting for nearly two hours for any sign of his surrogate son returning from Voldemort’s clutches and a sense of worry was beginning to worm its way onto his calm expression. The wait was not a good sign.

Suddenly, there was a muffled thump as a crumpled figure in a long ragged cloak appeared on the ground two feet from where the older wizard stood. Instantly, he rushed to the man’s side.

“Severus?” He called urgently, quickly extending his honed magical sense to detect any traps or veiled curses. He found none. He was relieved to see the Potions Master lift his head wearily, but he made no other movement.

“Albus.” The voice was raspy, nearly gone from continuous screaming, but the emotion was clear in it. The spy had never been in such a state before. He looked like he was about to collapse, even on his knees, and tremors wracked his body. The moonlight shone off of the slick patches of blood that splattered his pale skin and soaked through his ripped and stained robes. There was no way that he would be able to make it to the castle on his own.

Dumbledore stooped to put an arm around the younger man and help him to his feet, feeling his heart ache as Severus hissed with pain.

“Sorry,” Severus wheezed as he leaned heavily onto his mentor and friend.

“Hush, my child, there’s nothing to apologize for,” Dumbledore admonished gently. “I’ll activate the Portkey now; Poppy will have you fixed up in no time.”

“Albus.” Severus was smiling grimly, the strong glint of triumph and stark relief in his black eyes looking decidedly out of place in his condition. “I’ve been accepted into the Inner Circle. I’ve succeeded.” 

“Thank you, my boy. I couldn’t be more proud of you,” Albus said sadly, reflecting that such an accomplishment was barely worth the pain it caused those he loved. Without saying another word, he withdrew an empty potion bottle from his robes and silently activated it.

 

 

Harry drifted slowly into consciousness. The first thing he was aware of was the dull ache spread that throughout his entire body and the sharp throb within his skull. He didn’t dare stir, knowing well enough what pain it would cause, but he managed to open his eyes after a few experimental blinks.

“Well well, look who’s finally awake. You gave us quite a scare, Mr. Potter.” Harry shifted his eyes to look at Madame Pomfrey, who was looming over the side of his bed with her arms crossed. He didn’t respond. Her face softened and she slowly ran a hand over his hair. “Well, what else is new,” she said quietly with a sad smile. “I swear you’ll be the death of me, Harry. Do you know what happened?”

Harry nodded fractionally. Oh yes, he remembered exactly what had happened. Last night, he had actually planned on staying awake just for the purpose of avoiding a vision, but somehow Voldemort had managed to drag Harry into his mind to watch the proceedings. For a while, he had thought that Snape hadn’t managed to make the antidote in time, but then he realized that Snape was merely screaming, not pouring out his betrayal. It had been a faint relief, mostly because Harry could feel everything Snape was going through.

“I gather that you are still in pain, Harry?” Harry nodded slightly. “That is to be expected. Once you passed out, we nearly flooded you with healing potions and spells. It’s nearly mid-afternoon now, so it should have mostly worked out of your system. A few more potions and you’ll be back to yourself; just make sure to take it easy for the rest of the week. You will still be fairly fragile.”

Harry’s attention had drifted somewhere halfway through her speech since he had heard the same thing dozens of times before. He wouldn’t be surprised if he would be weak a lot longer after this vision than the others; it had truly been one of the most excruciating experiences of his life. Before this, Voldemort’s brief possession at the Ministry had been most painful, but the Pax Veritas potion affected the body as well as the mind, which meant that Snape was undoubtedly in much worse condition than Harry was. Steeling himself for the pain, he turned his head slightly to the side, where he could see the spot of black at the corner of his vision.

Snape was laying two beds to his left, his skin almost blending in with the sheet pulled up to his chin. His black hair was lying in limp strands and there were deep black circles beneath his closed eyes. He looked like he was barely breathing. Harry doubted that he would be awake for quite some time.

Eventually, the medi-witch stopped talking and fed Harry several potions that made him feel much better and diminished the pain significantly. He still moved slowly and he felt incredibly weak, but he knew that wouldn’t last too long. At one point, Hermione and Ron returned from their quick lunch break, crying out in surprise and relief when they saw that he was awake. They explained what had happened during the night, but Harry didn’t respond. He felt somewhat empty and distant; to some extent, he had always felt that his friends couldn’t understand just what he went through during his visions and nightmares, but it was especially palpable after the immensity of the Pax Veritas. Of course, he loved them and was grateful for the help and comfort they tried to give him after a difficult night, but sometimes it only made him feel more distant from them. The truth was that the only reason they heard him last night was because he had lost control of the silencing charm he normally placed around his bed, but there was no way that he would tell them that.

There was a pause in the conversation as Hermione and Ron gave each other a glance because of Harry’s unresponsiveness. Ron let his gaze drift to the side, where they could just see Snape through a gap in the curtains Madame Pomfrey had pulled around his bed.

“Look at him.” Ron said casually. “Looks like he was put through the wringer a few times. Wonder what happened to him, the greasy git.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Harry suddenly snapped, his voice grating harshly with misuse. His eyes were like chips of emerald ice, a faint unnatural light piercing a stunned Ron from their depths. “You have no idea what he’s gone through, Ron. What _I’ve_ gone through. He’s one of the bravest men I know and he deserves your respect.”

Ron had the grace to look slightly ashamed and the room fell into an uncomfortable, confused silence. Harry looked away towards the window, ignoring them entirely.

“Well said, Mr. Potter, well said.” Dumbledore said as he appeared from Madame Pomfrey’s office, his eyes twinkling approvingly. Next to him stood a pale and worn-looking Draco Malfoy who barely glanced at them before whisking back Snape’s curtain and stepping into the enclosure, sliding the curtain closed behind him. The older wizard came over to Harry’s bedside, bending down to grasp Harry’s smaller hands with his own wrinkled ones.

“It’s good to see you looking better, my boy. I must admit that my heart skipped a beat when I came back to the Hospital Wing last night with Severus and saw that you were already here. I thought that you might want my reasoning as to why you experienced the Pax Veritas when Voldemort wasn’t directly involved.” Harry hadn’t actually thought that it mattered _why_ he felt the pain, but he supposed it would be good to at least have an idea. He nodded for the Headmaster to continue.

“I would assume that the use of Voldemort’s blood in the potion is what drew you into the vision, but it was also your connection with Voldemort that prevented it from taking full effect. For example, you were not found screaming about the many occasions in which you defied the Dark Lord.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” Hermione said, the cogs almost visibly turning in her mind. “Since the potion disables any form of protection of the mind, including Occlumency, Harry should have been fully affected.” Harry looked over at her in surprise.

“Wait, why do _you_ know about the Pax Veritas, ‘Mione? That’s a Dark Potion!” She waved him aside.

“When I heard what had happened to you, I did some research on it. Besides, why shouldn’t I know about the Dark Arts? _You_ certainly do.”

“Well, that’s because I had to study them with Moody—” Harry began feebly, realizing that she was right.

“Don’t even try, mate, you know she’s right. Like always.” Ron said, shaking his head. Dumbledore chuckled and just then Malfoy stepped from behind the curtain separating Snape’s bed from the rest of the room. His eyes caught Harry’s.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Ron asked rudely. Malfoy sneered at him and didn’t reply. Hermione slapped him on the arm, hard.

“Oh, Ron, just shut up,” she hissed in exasperation. “Obviously, he’s here to see Snape.” Ron subsided, flushed in embarrassment and confusion.

“Mr. Malfoy is also here because he is somewhat involved with what happened last night.” Dumbledore explained. “He was the one that helped Severus to the point outside of the wards where he would Apparate. Had he not been there, Severus would have been forced to stay in the dubious care of the Death Eaters for several days.”

Harry blinked and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Malfoy didn’t look smug or proud as he had expected; rather, the blond was still very pale and his eyes were bloodshot. Obviously, he hadn’t enjoyed what he had been forced to see last night.

“Why were you there, Malfoy?” Harry asked quietly.

“My father summoned me to witness the pleasures that awaited me should I reach the highest status, as I undoubtedly would.” Malfoy sneered. “He was preparing me for the honor of joining the Inner Circle.” Their eyes caught, as if Malfoy was daring Harry to make a comment about it, but Harry simply nodded in understanding before he turned his attention back to Dumbledore.

“Sir, will Professor Snape be alright?”

“Certainly, my boy, though it may be some time before he wakes. Once he does, however, he will heal quickly and will no doubt be back teaching to his full capacity.”

“Glad I didn’t make it into his advanced class,” Ron mumbled only loud enough for Hermione and Harry to hear. Harry suspected that Dumbledore might have heard anyway as he had a certain amused twinkle in his eyes when he stood.

“I’m afraid that I must take my leave,” the aged wizard said apologetically, patting Harry’s hand a final time. “I will keep you abreast of any important details, Harry. Please feel better soon.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry replied respectfully. Malfoy simply gave them a faint, aristocratic nod before he too swept out of the Hospital Wing behind the Headmaster. Harry looked after him thoughtfully, not noticing Hermione watching him narrowly. His friends stayed with him until curfew; Ron playing Wizard’s Chess or Exploding Snap with him and Hermione studying or grilling them on that day’s notes. When they finally bid him good night and Madame Pomfrey dimmed the lights, Harry stared at the ceiling above “his” bed and found that he couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Snape, his body and face contorted in pure agony as he writhed on the ground in front of Voldemort’s throne. The screams were piercing, blood-curdling. He couldn’t forget them and he knew that the images wouldn’t leave his nightmares for a couple of weeks.

Finally, Harry sat up and swung his legs over his bed. He stared at the gap in the curtains surrounding Snape’s bed, trying to see any sign of life in his professor. From this distance, he couldn’t tell if Snape’s chest was rising or not, and a swift rise of panic in his chest forced him to hurry over to the other bed in order to reassure himself. Now that he was next to the bed, however, he could see that Snape was breathing peacefully and some color had entered his skin. Harry felt foolish, but he somehow didn’t care too much that the thought of Snape dying frightened him so much. It was surprising, but it didn’t feel wrong; he knew now that Snape had risked his life several times in order to protect Harry’s and it seemed natural to fear losing that safety, that sense of care. He knew that Snape didn’t _really_ care for him, after all. Most likely, Snape felt that he had to protect Harry because it was his duty as a teacher and an Order member; not because he actually _liked_ him.

 _Then why would he give you those lessons without telling Dumbledore?_ A part of him whispered.

 _Probably because he didn’t want me to kill myself trying to fly off of towers again,_ he thought in reply, but he felt like it was a weak argument. Snape wouldn’t teach him personally and without permission just for that reason. In fact, he should have welcomed the idea that Harry would off himself and Snape wouldn’t have to dirty his hands to do it.

 _But Snape wouldn’t think like that. At least, not now,_ that voice retorted. Harry had to agree with that grudgingly. He knew that now. Snape didn’t waste his precious time on people he deemed hopeless, no matter how often he claimed to the contrary, and that made Harry feel… Well, he wasn’t entirely sure what it made him feel. It was something warm and soft in his chest, like a small balloon growing inside of him. It was good.

But it didn’t alleviate his restlessness. It was barely fifteen minutes later when he decided that the Hospital Wing was feeling far too closed in and he took to roaming the corridors as he had countless times in his years of sleepless nights at Hogwarts. It was really quite unfortunate that, in all of the excitement of Snape’s situation, Harry had forgotten that the Dursley’s were currently in the castle. It was also unfortunate that his distracted wanderings led him to the vicinity of the Dursley’s quarters.

As it was, he was completely unprepared when the first blow fell to his back.

* * *

 

Harry groaned when he came to, the throbbing in the back of his skull all too familiar. He had somehow landed himself in trouble. Again.

“Relax. Don’t move; your left wrist is broken and your left ankle is sprained. You may have a concussion as well— _Diagnosis!_ ” The unmistakable tones of Malfoy’s smooth, aristocratic voice filled his ears and Harry groaned again, this time in mortification.

“Oh please, Potter, I know you’re not that delicate,” Malfoy snarked, but Harry was aware enough now to recognize that there was no malice in the other boy’s tone. Harry didn’t respond, his mind slowly taking in the situation. The room was fairly dark and smelled heavily of dust; most likely an abandoned classroom than the Hospital Wing, then. The cot he was laying on was cold, hard, and scratched beneath his fingertips; signs of a hasty transfiguration. Malfoy was muttering to himself, conjuring bandages and summoning potions it sounded like, which meant that Harry must not have been out for very long. He wondered what happened.

He remembered leaving the Hospital Wing to think and escape the sterile closeness and he remembered that he had taken several out-of-the-way corridors in order to avoid Filch or Prefects. He recalled encountering Dudley—after the initial smack in his back—and exchanging several insults and threats. Harry hadn’t been worried; he knew how to deal with his cowardly cousin alone and he distinctly recalled contemplating restoring Dudley’s tail to its former position wandlessly. After that—he had a hard time remembering—something had come up from behind him and slammed him into a wall.

_Uncle Vernon._

Harry gasped, his eyes flying open, and he shot up into a sitting position as the memory swam to the surface of his muddled brain. Malfoy cry of surprise was mirrored by Harry’s own whimper as his body screamed in pain and he collapsed back onto the little cot. Malfoy was at his side instantly, cursing and berating him for something, but he was no longer paying attention.

_Harry wheezed as he tried to replenish the air that had been forcefully expelled from his lungs by the impact against the hard stone wall. He was momentarily stunned as those terribly familiar, meaty hands grasped his wrists so tightly behind his back that he thought he could feel the bones bending slightly under the pressure. Almost instantly, all thoughts of magic—wandless or not—disappeared from his mind and he only knew blind terror at the prospect of being at the mercy of his uncle’s sadistic rage once more. All self-confidence and taunts vanished when he was yanked away from the wall and was faced with a smug Dudley winding up for his favorite sport: Boxing Harry._

_As the blows rained down upon him, Harry’s mind retreated protectively to a familiar empty space that was as dark and small in the depths of his mind as his cupboard had been. Here it was as if he was surrounded by a soft, pliable bubble that bowed inward with every blow but was never penetrated. Here, he didn’t feel it when Vernon knocked him to the ground and Dudley stomped on his ankle hard enough to almost break it. He didn’t feel it when Vernon yanked him back up to his feet by his wrist (breaking it in the process) and back-handed him fiercely. All Harry could feel was the gentle, comforting thrum of magic coursing through his veins and through his surroundings. There was a different tone to the vibration here than at the Dursley’s house; here, it was much more familiar and almost sentient. After several moments—during which Dudley kicked him viciously in the ribs—Harry placed the feeling as similar to the one he received when he returned to Hogwarts each year and passed through the protective wards surrounding the campus. It was the magic of Hogwarts. It was ancient but strong and caring for each of its children. It reassured him and comforted him and wept with him._

“ _You’re home,” it seemed to say. “Don’t worry, I will help you. You’re safe, my child.”_

“Potter? Potter. _Harry!_ ”

Harry blinked, coming back to awareness at Malfoy’s faintly panicked shout. His body was trembling forcefully and he was gasping hoarsely around the hand-shaped bruising on his neck. The flashback had been all-consuming and he couldn’t restrain himself from glancing around to see if Vernon was lurking in a corner of the room. There was no one but he and Malfoy in the dusty classroom and he felt himself relax slightly.

“Stay with me, Potter,” Malfoy was murmuring in a strained voice, as if he was forcing himself to be calm. “It’s just you and me; I hexed that fat bastard into next Thursday. Here, drink this—” But Harry resisted the vial that was being pushed into his good hand and shook his head in protest.

“W-what’re you doing here?” He croaked painfully. Malfoy made a sound of impatience, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

“I don’t know what spell you used, Potter, but it certainly got my attention; I was practically dragged in this direction until I found you being attacked by some fat muggle. Now drink this; it’ll help with your throat.” Harry obeyed without really thinking, unconsciously revealing just how much he trusted the Slytherin. As the cool potion spread down his throat and through his body, minimizing the pain, Harry sighed in relief.

“I didn’t use a spell,” Harry murmured, trying not to strain his throat.

“You didn’t use a spell?” Malfoy repeated in consternation. He handed Harry several more potions which Harry drank. “How in Merlin’s name did you get me up here? I didn’t even have to open the doors or wait for the staircases.”

Harry blinked and stared at the Slytherin, who stared back as realization dawned on both of them.

“Hogwarts.” Harry breathed. “She sent you to find me.”

“Hogwarts? But that shouldn’t be possible; only the Headmaster can interact with the castle that way. The castle never interferes with the students.”

“But _she_ interacted with _us_ ,” Harry argued, recalling the comforting waves of magic in his mind. “She told me that she would help me.”

Malfoy shook his head. “Only you, Potter. Well, even if she _did_ help you—why would she send me? Why not the Weasel, or Granger? Or the Headmaster?”

“I-I don’t know,” Harry replied, flustered. He didn’t really know what was suggested by Hogwarts thinking that Draco Malfoy was the best person to help him. He barely trusted Malfoy, but now that he thought about it, he realized that he would rather that Malfoy find out about his uncle than anyone else. His subconscious must have told Hogwarts this and the fact that the castle had agreed was a very favorable mark towards Malfoy’s character. It meant that Hogwarts trusted Draco Malfoy with Harry Potter’s life. There was a long stretch of silence as both of them contemplated this.

“Potter, I think I deserve an explanation,” Malfoy finally said, quiet but firm. Harry tensed automatically, his expression shutting down in a way that impressed even the Slytherin. Clearly, the Boy-Who-Lived was not going to give up his secrets without a fight. Well, the blond had always enjoyed a challenge. “If I remember correctly, those were your relatives.”

“Look, Malfoy—“

“No, Potter, I want to know why.” Malfoy interrupted, his eyes suddenly blazing fiercely as they bored into Harry’s. “Why did your uncle see fit to beat you senseless? Why were you even out of the Hospital Wing? Why are those muggles inside the castle and _why_ _didn’t you defend yourself against them?_ You’re a bloody _wizard_ , Potter, and one of the best ones I know! And don’t you dare try any of that ‘false modesty’ bollocks with me—everyone knows you’re the best at Defense.”

“Look, I _don’t know,_ alright?” Harry burst out, his eyes glowing faintly in response to his growing anger. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch, but he was in too much pain to stand. He settled for glaring. “I _don’t know!_ I don’t know why my relatives hate me and I don’t know why I freeze up whenever I see them! Don’t you think I’ve wondered why I’m never able to defend myself against them? Don’t you think I’ve wondered what I did to deserve their hatred? I don’t _have_ a bloody answer, Malfoy! I guess I’m just worthless freak who can’t even protect himself from muggles! I guess—I guess—I’m j-just….” Harry’s voice choked off in a combination of pain and emotion and he was horrified to find tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. His body slumped in exhaustion and he dropped his head, shielding his eyes from view.

Silently, Malfoy stepped forward to provide support in case Harry’s body should give out and he lightly rested one hand on Harry’s left arm and the other beside Harry’s right hand where it clutched the cot’s rough fabric. Without even realizing it, Harry leaned into the support until his head rested in the crook of Malfoy’s neck, the reality of what had happened finally crashing down upon him. Malfoy held himself very still, barely breathing as the Boy-Who-Lived silently broke down, his sobs only evident in the way they wracked his body and his warm tears soaked in the fabric of Malfoy’s expensive silk nightclothes.

This was the second time in nearly as many days. Harry hadn’t cried this often in years, but there was something about this situation that made him lose control of his emotions. It felt as if he was unraveling—not only his carefully-kept secrets, but _himself_ , his very being. His secrets were a large part of what made up his personality; if no one knew about how his family treated him, he was able to be strong and cheerful and courageous without anyone knowing the wiser. Without his secrets he felt exposed.

Eventually, his tears stopped and he was left feeling completely empty. His mind felt lighter even as his body became heavier in contrast. His exhaustion was such that it seemed to take ages to lift his good hand and clutch Malfoy’s thin nightshirt to steady himself. Vaguely, he noticed that the Slytherin smelled very good, like warm vanilla with a hint of mint. He took a deep breath to clear his head of such random thoughts and lifted his head away from Malfoy’s soft, warm skin, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. He glanced up only to touch a finger to the tear stains and dry them wandlessly. At the simple action, he felt a wave of shame and self-hatred. Malfoy was right: he was a _wizard_ , for Merlin’s sake; he should have been able to defend himself against Vernon with his eyes closed. He forced himself to shove the thought out of his mind.

“Thanks, Po—” Malfoy hesitated, apparently uncomfortable or unsure as how to address Harry after such an intimate moment. They were both aware that something monumental had changed in their relationship and their views of each other at that moment. Harry rubbed his eyes hard with the sleeve of his good arm and looked up into the Slytherin’s grey eyes.

“Call me Harry when we’re in private, like this.” He said softly, intensely embarrassed at the thought of trying to maintain their rivalry after he had just bawled his eyes out on Malfoy’s shoulder. He needed to be able to distinguish the two roles: “Malfoy and Potter” in public, “Draco and Harry” in private. Malfoy bowed his head in acknowledgement, his eyes flickering with an unrecognizable emotion.

“Harry.” Draco murmured as if to test it on his tongue, and Harry felt an inexplicable shudder travel up his spine. It felt strange, almost eerie, to be called by his given name in that smooth voice when he had been so used to hearing it in a spiteful way. “In private, you can call me Draco.”

“Draco.” Harry couldn’t help testing the name as well and he caught the almost unnoticeable shiver travel through the blonde’s slender frame. It made him smile, for some reason. “Thanks, for everything.”

“If you say so,” Mal—no, Draco—said, shrugging. “You certainly didn’t seem pleased to see me at first.”

“Who would, seeing your ugly mug?” Harry couldn’t resist retorting lightly. “But what can I say? You grew on me.”

“Oh, back to insults already? I never knew you were such a backstabber worthy of Slytherin, _Potter_.” Draco said, but his eyes, even without the faint smirk that curved his lips, were light with mischief.

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, _Malfoy_ ,” Harry responded, unable to resist the faint suggestiveness in his tone. He grinned at the surprised expression that crossed his rival’s face and it was while they continued to banter back and forth that Harry realized that he was _enjoying_ this. A lot, in fact, and it made him wonder what exactly would have happened had he accepted Mal—Draco’s—hand all those years ago. The thought made him wince as he remembered just who’s hand he _had_ accepted. Ron would blow a gasket if he ever found out that Harry and Draco were… well, less than enemies, whatever they were.

Harry forced M—Draco—to take him back to the Hospital Wing without alerting Madame Pomfrey or any other teachers. As it was, Draco had actually done a fair job healing Harry’s injuries: the bruises and minor cuts would be healed with a cream applied twice a day; his sprained ankle was actually healed; and although Draco hadn’t been able to fully heal Harry’s wrist, he had been able to set it with a rather impressive and complex spell. Along with Harry’s well-practiced glamour charms, there was virtually no evidence of Harry ever being attacked. Draco had been surprisingly unhappy with this outcome.

“It’s just wrong!” He hissed as he helped Harry back into his bed in the Hospital Wing. “That muggle should be in Azkaban, or worse, for what he did! I don’t give a bloody damn what the muggle world thinks; child abuse is not tolerated in the wizarding world! _Especially_ considering who you are; if the press ever got wind of this—“

“Draco, just shut it, will you?” Harry broke in wearily; barely able to muster the anger he would have normally felt at this point. “The press _won’t_ find out because I trust you to keep this secret. It’s none of your—“

“That’s not enough.” Draco interrupted, and his expression was serious. “This is too serious, Harry; it’s not just about you. Does anyone else know about it?” Harry remained silent for a beat, surprised at Draco’s forcefulness, before he responded reluctantly.

“Snape found out the night I became a Pennae.” Draco stared.

“That was months ago. He hasn’t _done_ anything about it?”

“I sort of put him under a mild compulsion charm without him knowing,” Harry admitted, not in the least ashamed of his deception. “He thinks that it’s vitally important for this to be kept secret.”

“ _Snape?_ How did you hex Snape without him knowing?”

Harry wiggled his fingers, causing a French beret to appear on Draco’s head with a _pop!_ “Freakish wandless powers, remember?” He said sarcastically. Draco just glared.

“When he finds out—“

“Again, no one will be finding out anything, because you won’t be telling them.” Harry said with finality, letting his exhaustion show through as he leaned back against his pillows. He lowered his voice. “Draco, please help me with this. I just want to be left alone; I don’t want any attention. Just let us all go on living our lives; my relatives only have to see me for two more weeks this coming summer and then we will never see each other again. They don’t deserve to be in Azkaban because they were forced to take me in.”

Draco looked like he greatly wanted to protest, but eventually he gave in. He left soon after, saying he needed to check something before he went back to sleep. Harry was sure that he was up to something, but at that point the stress of the day was such that he simply wanted to sleep for a week even if he had to stay in the Hospital Wing to do it. He would worry about the Slytherin’s actions later.

The Dursley’s left early in the morning a day later. Harry didn’t see them again, but he still made certain that he walked back to Gryffindor Tower with Ron and Hermione despite the bushy-haired witch saying that she thought he looked paler than the night before. Truth to be told, Harry’s wrist was still throbbing painfully with each little movement and it took all of his hard-earned skills to appear normal in the days that followed. He was lucky that it had been his left wrist that was broken—even though he had learned to be ambidextrous early in his life, it would have been difficult to explain why he suddenly started writing with his left hand.

He and Draco continued their apparent dislike of each other in public. Hermione and Ron, Harry thought, weren’t at all convinced by the farce, but so far only Ron had expressed his open dislike for the Slytherin. Harry didn’t mind, though; sometimes he found vials of pain-reliever potion in his bag that appeared mysteriously after Potions (taught by Dumbledore) or Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins and he knew that Draco was looking out for him in his own way. Like Snape, the Malfoy heir just had a more subtle way of making his intentions known.

Snape didn’t regain consciousness until nearly three days after he arrived from Voldemort’s lair. True to Dumbledore’s word, only a day after he regained consciousness Snape was back in the classroom, albeit with a slight limp and an even nastier temper. In just his first class, he made a Hufflepuff cry, docked Hermione twenty points for placing her bag too close to the aisle, vanished Harry’s potion because it wasn’t “good enough”, and then held Harry back after class. Harry would have almost been afraid if he hadn’t known that Snape was just frustrated that he couldn’t direct his anger in a direction that would have given him most satisfaction—that is, at the children of the Death Eaters that had tortured him. Even still, Harry approached the professor’s desk cautiously.

“What is it, sir?” He asked when the last student had left. Snape quickly came around the desk and approached Harry, his eyes piercing and calculating as they swept up his frame and met his gaze squarely.

“What’s wrong? You’re hurt.” Snape said bluntly and Harry had to stop himself from gaping.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He said, trying to calm his flustered mind. “Should you even be out of the Hospital Wing? Sir?”

“My medical condition is none of your affair,” Snape scowled. “Yours, however, is mine. I will give you ten seconds to tell me what happened before I drag you up to the Hospital Wing myself.”

“What? You can’t do that—“ Harry began.

“Eight seconds.”

“It’s nothing—“

“Six seconds.”

“You don’t even—“

“Four seconds.”

“Fine!” Harry burst out, exasperated. “I was walking down to the Great Hall after I got out of the Hospital Wing—“

“Do not dare to presume to lie to me, Potter,” Snape interrupted, his voice dangerously low and his black eyes glinting with anger. “Your pathetic attempts at lying can be spotted from a mile away by a half-blind Hippogriff! I thought that our recent interactions would have solidified our mutual trust, but I can see that it is not so. You brought this on yourself, Potter. _Legilimens!_ ”

“ _You filthy, little, BUGGER!” Uncle Vernon was bellowing, punctuating each word with a kick to Harry’s back. Due to long practice, Harry was able to remain silent, but he couldn’t stop his grunt of pain when the final blow sent him smashing into the wall of the corridor. A faint whimper escaped his lips as he rolled tighter into a ball and tried to protect his head with his one good arm, the other cradled closely to his to chest. It didn’t help. Pain was starting to worm through the protective bubble he had surrounded himself with in his mind and he yelped when Dudley put his foot on his side and leaned forward heavily. Harry felt his ribs bend and creak dangerously under the weight and he gasped._

“ _Hey, Freak, where’s your powerful little friends now? Or your pretty little stick? They don’t care where you are; I’ll bet that they love the night time ‘cause it means that they don’t have to babysit you anymore. They won’t come to help you and you can’t even protect yourself! You’re worthless!” He chortled, his triple chin wobbling, and shoved Harry away with his foot. Harry rolled away from his cousin, only to be stopped by Vernon’s feet. He gasped for air, feeling his ribs spark painfully with every breath, and winced when his uncle grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him as easily as if he were a cat, slamming him into the wall._

_He let his eyes fall closed as though he were unconscious, but he doubted it would help anything. His uncle leaned close and his foul breath enveloped the young wizard’s senses._

“ _Have your little friends found out how worthless you are? It only took us a few months to find out spiteful, ungrateful wretch you are and you’ve been clinging to them like a parasite for years by now. No doubt the time you spend infesting our home is the best time of their year—they probably wish they could discipline you like we do. Especially that tall batty teacher of yours; I could see that I found a kindred spirit in that one.” He chuckled darkly. “Maybe I’ll do them a favor and remind you of your proper manners during this little visit.” He reared back, raising his fist for another blow and Harry steeled himself for a very long night._

With a violent wrench, Harry gained control and threw Snape out of his mind, too exhausted and in pain to even be angry with the man. He remained still for a long time, calming himself and burying the memories as deep as they would go in hopes of preventing another flashback. He had always been prone to having them on occasion during the school year, but he had had two already since this latest attack, when normally he only had three or four at most.

“Potter?” Snape’s voice was quiet, absent of any of the previous anger. Despite himself, Harry relaxed further and opened his eyes. He found that he was lying on the ground in a tight ball, his arms wrapped around his head protectively. An embarrassed flush traveled up his neck, infusing his face, and he winced as he uncurled and felt the throb of the wounds he had aggravated. He couldn’t stop his eyes from widening when he saw that Snape was actually crouched in front of him, a hand reached out to steady him.

“Relax, Potter, let me help you.” The man said calmly, ignoring Harry’s incredulous look. Harry cautiously obeyed, feeling sort of numb as he allowed Snape to gently grip his elbows and help him stand. The blood rushed to his head and Harry swayed. Snape led him to an empty stool and sat him down, quietly encouraging the younger wizard to bend over and breathe deeply. Harry followed his instructions, already knowing that they would help the sickness pass quickly. When he was recovered enough to raise his head, he found himself faced with a vial of a familiar pink potion and he took it with a sigh, downing the liquid and feeling the pain in his ribs and wrist fade.

“The healing spells you used were good, but I would have thought that you would have studied more thoroughly considering your track record for danger. _Diagnosis!_ For example, there is a spell to heal your broken wrist rather than just setting it and it is only slightly more complicated. Perhaps we will need to add healing to our training sessions.” Harry had to work hard to keep from gaping. He was sitting there with a broken wrist and bruised ribs from an attack by his uncle and Snape was criticizing Harry on his repertoire of healing spells? Granted, Snape didn’t know that it was Draco who healed Harry, but still… where was the anger for lying? The immediate trip to Dumbledore to tell everything?

Harry surprised himself by barely even flinching when Snape raised his wand and began healing the rest of his injuries, including the finger-shaped bruises around his neck that he had been hiding with a turtleneck sweater and a scarf. He was also surprised by the concern he felt when Snape’s expression never changed from the emotionless mask he only used when he was hiding a strong emotion. Maybe Harry had broken his brain.

“Potter, if you insist on landing yourself in these ridiculous situations, the least I can do is to teach you to heal yourself if you refuse to let others help you.” Snape spoke with little irritation, sounding more tired than anything. Harry looked down, ashamed but not denying his teacher’s logic. “It was incredibly stupid of you to not inform me of what happened. I’ll admit that I’m not the most… caring of individuals, but the fact is that I am the only one that knows of your situation and you should be able to trust my discretion. Perhaps you deserve the days of pain for your stubbornness.”

Harry merely stared, flabbergasted by these display of… concern? Suddenly, Harry found the situation incredibly funny and he couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. Snape sniffed and drew himself up to his full height, looking affronted at Harry’s deeply amused smile.

“And what, may I ask, is so humorous about this situation?”

“Careful, Professor, if I didn’t know any better, I would think that you’re beginning to care about me.” Harry said, stifling a chuckle. “Your whole reputation would be ruined if anyone heard you talking like that.”

Snape smirked evilly but there was a somewhat bemused glint of amusement in his eyes. Anyone else but Harry would assume that the Boy-Who-Lived was going to be eviscerated for that little comment, but Harry had come to know the prickly Potions Master very well by now. He simply grinned in response, raising a challenging eyebrow in unconscious imitation of Snape. Ron hated it when he did things like that.

“That is precisely why you will keep these interactions to yourself if you know what is good for you. If I find that my reputation has been harmed in any way, you will find yourself in great need of a new set of innards. You would be surprised at the amount of potions that could use pieces of Gryffindor liver.”

Harry held up three fingers solemnly with his eyes sparkling mischievously. “Your secret is safe with me. Scout’s honor.”

 

* * *

 

The weeks passed frighteningly quickly. There was only about a month left of school and it seemed to Harry that as his attendance at Hogwarts progressed, the school became less and less about learning. From the first time he had set foot on its grounds, Hogwarts had been his home and now that role was expanding to encompass all aspects of his life. It was now the center of his whole life and much like a normal person’s life, only a small part of that life actually involved school.

Most of his time was occupied with training from Snape and meetings with the Order. As promised, Snape had added healing to their already full schedule of stealth, wandless magic, flying, history, and potions lessons and now they met at least five times a week for several hours at a time. Harry had never felt so strong and able in his life, but simultaneously he also felt weak. The frequency of his flashbacks didn’t decrease and he had more nightmares about the Dursley’s than he had in years. Besides that, he had to worry about the new figure that starred in his visions—Helmut Schliemann—and he was constantly losing sleep in order to attend Order meetings to report what he saw. In some ways, it was only through his visions that they could track the elusive foreigner’s movements and activities. Harry hated that. He worried constantly—about Voldemort, about Draco, about his visions, about the wizarding world.

Harry’s closest friends could tell that he was becoming stressed—even if only Hermione and Ron knew why—and they took care to leave him alone most of the time, but more than once his fellow House members had requested his help to study or practice Defense and he found that he couldn’t turn them down. Neville, Ginny, and Luna had been careful to keep their distance while simultaneously making sure that he took the time to relax and de-stress from time to time. Though he was undeniably grateful to them, he found that most of his stress was relieved during his training with Snape or whenever he found the rare moment to meet with Draco.

The Slytherin had been a surprisingly good companion to the Boy-Who-Lived. The witty, entertaining banter he shared with Snape was there as well, but he found that Draco was more open with his emotions. Though, considering Snape and Slytherins in general, that wasn’t saying too much. The fact was that if they managed to encounter each other in the kitchens during the night, they could spend hours insulting each other, discussing what Harry was learning, or simply sitting in silence. These times were often the most therapeutic moments in Harry’s day, though he couldn’t think for the life of him why. He very carefully pushed away any memories of the more… _intimate_ dreams he had had of the blond Slytherin, unwilling to explore their meaning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Liked my writing? You might like my Tumblr. rosyourboat.tumblr.com


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